Or Die Trying
by M. Sparrow
Summary: Welcome to Jurassic World, a place where your safety is our number one concern. However, safety isn't what concerns Marianne Randal on an island filled with ancient, misunderstood titans. Survival does. For the twenty thousand occupants of Jurassic World, it's survival of the fittest. And, as stated some twenty years previous, life will find a way. Or it will die trying.
1. Introduction

**Introduction  
**

"You're sure about this, Simon?"

Simon Masrani turned to give his ear to the man in glasses, whose raincoat was slick with rain and pooling water in his dress shoes. Muddy up to his knees, Simon studied the man's hands which were shaking as he quickly marked off a few checkboxes on his paper. The paper ripped under the point of the pen, thoroughly soaked with water. Thunder roared across the air, lightning cracked the sky, and the wind whipped the trees around them and scattered foliage debris around their feet.

Simon steadied the umbrella over his head, which failed to dispel water, thoroughly soaking him anyway. "Yes, yes, of course! Proceed as usual, Mr. Hendricks!" He waved the man off as if to shoo him away, "Continue as scheduled!"

"Don't you think this is a bit rushed?" The man called after him, sloshing through a collection of water on the cobble-stone walkway as they past the construction of an enormous concrete fountain. The whipping wind and pounding rain made it hard to hear and hard to fight off the chill settling through his wet clothes, but he didn't care. "Don't you think this is _all_ a bit rushed?"

Simon stopped and turned to the man, narrowing his gaze at him. Lewis Hendricks, the head of the construction contractors that had been here almost two years overseeing this project pushed up his rain streaked glasses at him. They were three weeks away from opening, and only half the enclosures had animals settled and ready for viewing. The resort was less than completed, and he was four days late on a shipment of lumber coming from the mainland.

"Everything is under control, Mr. Hendricks!" Simon said with a laugh, clapping a hand on the man's soggy shoulder. "Continue on, as discussed! Ever better, ever better, you know! Jurassic World will be up and running in three weeks time and I will have you to thank."

Hendricks looked at him as if he'd sprouted another limb, clipboard lowering to his side. Water cascaded off the ends of his raincoat, and he swiped at the water on his glasses. Simon's smile evaporated as the man just shook his head and turned from him, "I hope you know what you're doing, Simon!" He called above the thunder and lightning, pointing up to a man working on scaffolding and shouting orders to a forklift raising a load of steel. Simon watched his fade into the crowds of working men and floodlights, rain pelting his body and soaking his Armani suit.

Everything was under control.


	2. Part I: The Genesis

**Or Die Trying**

 **Dedication:** To those who feel less beautiful, and to those who find beauty among such.

* * *

 **Part I:** **The Genesis**

 _The superior man understands what is right; the inferior man understands what will sell._ ― **Confucius**

 _Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall_ **.-Proverbs 16:18**

 _She was beautiful, but not like the girls in the magazines. She was beautiful for the way she thought. She was beautiful for the way she thought and the way she talked about things she loved. She was beautiful for the way she made people smile even when she was sad. No, she wasn't beautiful for something as temporary as her looks. She was beautiful, deep down to her soul._ - **Unknown**


	3. Prologue

**Prologue**

"Excuse me, miss, are you Marianne Randal?"

The Montana dryness cast illuminating heat-waves across the vast expanse of desert, causing Marianne Randal to squint her eyes in the direction of rising dust-cloud to where a blurry figure was leaning out the window of a black SUV and calling to her, apparently.

The SUV, one of two unmarked Jeep Wrangler's parked half-hazardly among the other vehicles, sat like shining knights among dilapidated peasants. For a brief moment, she wondered how much sponsorship one of those would bring if sold, but then quickly shoved the thought from her mind when she noticed a shadow peek up from behind her.

She furrowed her brow at the Jeeps again, and then looked down to the tailgate of the Chevy pickup she'd been driving all day and grabbed her messenger bag. Slinging it over her shoulder, Marianne situated her Ray Ban aviator's on top of her head and rubbed her eyes-adding dried dirt onto her already dusty cheeks.

The figure beside her draped his arms over the bed of the pickup and squinted from beneath the brim of his fedora hat. Dr. Alan Grant, paleontologist and novelist, survivalist extraordinaire; or, as she knew him simply, paleontologist, teacher, friend of her father's, and boss. Dr. Grant puffed out his cheeks in a dramatic exhale and groaned quietly, mumbling.

"Friends of yours?"

She shook her head, "No,"

Marianne watched man in a overly tacky vest, jeans, and button-down shirt hurry towards her, as hurriedly as he could minding the rocks and pits in the desert floor. He stumbled over a hole only to step head-first into a bush, squawking in protest. Shaking her head, she snapped the gum she'd had in her mouth since morning and slammed the tailgate of the Chevy back into place.

The man brushed off his pants and hurried towards her, looking irritably behind him at the bush. She resisted the urge to shake her head at him as he approached the green Chevy, grant watching him behind sunglasses with a hard, unapproachable look-as he usually did when he was dirty, exhausted, and frustrated.

"My apologies," he said, out of breath and reaching up to swipe at his beaded brow with the cuff of his sleeve, "Am I," he puffed, "Am I correct in assuming that you are indeed Miss Marianne Randal?"

Marianne snapped her gum and tossed her messenger bag into the cab of the truck. She shrugged her shoulders and then gave a look to Dr. Grant, who gave her a small smile. She looked back to the man, who was red-faced and frankly pathetic looking, and gave him a half-smile, "Well that depends. You from the IRS or something?"

He furrowed his brow, straightened his glasses, and looked between her and Grant, "I beg your pardon?" His English accent was unmistakable, and he looked sorely out of place. Imagining him in a suit with a martini glass shot Marianne into the reality he was a businessman, or a man of privilege, not an expeditioner as he was...outfitted to be. "No, Miss, I assure you I am not from any governmental association-"

She waved him off, "Good. Then yeah, I'm Marianne. Who exactly are you?"

He bristled, then reached out for the side of the truck, still trying to catch his breath. Marianne shot a look over to the Jeeps he'd arrived in, noticing a nice posse of suited men, all carrying guns inside their suit jackets (which she assumed were supposed to be cleverly hidden), arms crossed at their chests and staring at her. She looked down to her feet and then waited for the man's reply.

"Forgive me," he waved his hand in front of his face as if to create a breeze, "this blasted heat-"

"Who're you representing?" Grant finally piped up from across the bed of the pickup. He looked agitated and removed his sunglasses, letting them rest in his hands over the bed. He examined them blankly and then gave the man a look, "If anyone?"

The man nodded, "Yes, yes, good; straight to the point," he stood tall and looked to her, then to Grant, nervousness and anxiety rattling through his eyes. Marianne suddenly felt sorry for him and leaned against the truck, the door to the cab still open. "I am here representing Miss Claire Dearing." He cleared his throat and fumbled around his vest pockets, as if in search.

She gave him a "so what" look, "Ok. Am I supposed to know who that is?"

He chuckled, "Considering your...line of work, perhaps." He shot a look to Grant, "I will assume, however, that you have heard of one Simon Masrani?"

Indeed. Marianne's mouth went dry at this and she shot an abrupt look to Grant, who frowned objectively to the man, working to unzip a stuck zipper on his ridiculous vest. Finally he managed to free it and wiggled his fingers inside, grabbing at a folded piece of paper. He extended it to Marianne and she snatched it from him, working to unfolds it. She nodded to reassure the man she did know who Simon Masrani was.

"Yes, I do. John Hammond entrusted his company and his research to Masrani before his death some ten years ago. He's been developing his..." she gave a weary look to Grant, "... _project_ for some time. I hear he's made ground-breaking research in genes and coding and all that." Not that she really knew, or cared. She'd been working for Grant as a "field analysist", or what she called a "field assistant". Her primarily responsibilities was filing reports and conducting debriefing's and presentations, editing research and perfecting analyses. She didn't know a lick about coding, or gene splicing, or archeology, or paleontology. The extent of Marianne's knowledge ran as deep as what Grant explained to her, which wasn't much, considering he was just as much a workaholic as she was.

Marianne gave the man a confused look, and unfolded the paper. She found it to to be a pamphlet and not just a solitary piece.

Her eye's shot down to the glossy front page.

Immediately she straightened, breath catching in her throat. Heat rose into her chest and her heart began to hammer. Mouth parching, she felt as if she hadn't drank in a decade. Marianne's eyes rapidly scanned the front page, a brightly colored, happy, _enticing_ picturesque of smiles, amusement park rides, and modern architecture. Enveloped in an array of green's only recognized as jungle foliage, she scanned the logo; a sleek silver and blue hue imaged to look like engraved stone, sat the blaring words of warning. Every inch of her froze in realization, warmed in excitement, and finally brazened with fury.

Jurassic World.

Her eyes shot up to the man, who was grinning at her, perspiration dripping between his eyes and down his nose. She swallowed thickly, dared not a look at Grant, and then looked back down at the pamphlet. She tried to hide the trembling in her hands but couldn't, and then she asked the man in a dry, somewhat calm voice.

"What in God's name is this?"

Marianne was tempted to open the pamphlet, but she couldn't; not with Grant standing right there. Not with his experience and his testimony and his horror story lurking right behind her. She blinked slowly, then the man chuckled and approached her as if he'd just cornered a great trophy, and plucked the pamphlet from her hands.

"Allow me to explain, Miss Randal."

 **. . .**

"Nice. _Very_ nice, hon. Now, easy..."

Owen Grady couldn't have broken the stare he had on the amber-colored eyes in front of him if his life depended on it. Rolling his lower lip inward and knawing on it gently helped, he hoped, mask the trembling of his facial muscles, if not the trembling spiking throughout his entire body.

It was a balmy afternoon, but he might as well have been cooking alive inside a boiler, because he was sweating bullets. He was slick with perspiration, trembling with what he hoped was a mixture of anticipation _and_ anxiety. He took half a step back, his boots grinding into the dirt beneath him. Everything seemed louder and amplified down here, far more than it did above on his walkways and catwalks. Owen wouldn't sworn on his grave that the air was echoing with the ramming of his heart against his ribcage. It might as well have been a brass drum. Not that he would've been able to hear that either, given the blood barreling through his ears like grenades.

She stepped closer, eyeing him cautiously, head tipped to one side as if trying to figure him out.

As if she needed to.

Movement, from his left. Whipping his head, he sent the other female hissing and slinking back half a step, obviously caught her in her plan to flank him. He gave her a slick half-smile and shook his head, then rounded his raised hand to her as if to hold her off.

"Nuh huh, baby, I saw that," he smiled at her, her his heart jerking at his calm platitudes. These things couldn't be sweet talked or charmed, nosiree. These things had one thing on their minds, and it wasn't his dashing good looks either. It was the rumbling of their instincts cooking in their brains, urging them forward, demanding answers as to why this male in front of them possessed such dominance over them, why he was different, and why they weren't supposed to rip his insides out and let them fall to the dirt.

Another hiss, this time from his right.

Owen gave his attention to the third female, giving her a smile before putting up his other hand to the one directly in front of him. They squealed loudly like they did when furious, then squawked at him agitatedly. He took another half step back, unwilling to drop his gaze to his feet or over his shoulder.

His stomach did somersaults within his gut-if he even had a gut left at this point-and he swallowed. He felt dry, so dry and hot down here with them, and he saw movement coming at his three o'clock side. The bushes rustled. He shot his attention to the bushes, only to find his beta hissing at him and growling in low, warning tones-upset she'd been discovered.

"Stop it," he frowned at her, "knock it off, Blue."

She looked to another female, they shared a look, and then grumbled and growled at him some more. The one directly in front of him took a step forward, fingers twitching with their massively long, talon-like claws. Owen noticed, but stiffened his face, and edged towards the fence more carefully.

Barry, his assistant, was at the gate controls, watching. Owen could see from the corner of his eye the man's body, slick with perspiration, anchored still and unmoving. The air suddenly got heavy as Blue came out of the bushes and took her place slightly to the right of the other female, Charlie. Owen eyed her, then noticed the third, Delta, trying to sneak up on his left again. He waved at her and pointed a finger warningly.

"I see you there, baby girl," he chuckled, "Close the gate, Barry." He said strongly. The females all hissed at him, eyeing carefully, fingers twitching. Blue tapped the largest claw on her foot as she stepped towards him, eyes steady, mouth half open and dripping with salivation.

His heart continued to pound.

"Close the gate? You insane, man?" Barry said calmly. Any sudden raise in decibel could send these girls into a frenzy, breaking any trust he'd established with them since birth. He nodded slowly, locking eyes briefly with Charlie, then moving to look at Delta. He lowered on his haunches, reaching behind him slowly. Jarring to a stop, Owen hit the gate, and sank lower to his haunches now. He squatted, sweat dripping into his eyes. He licked his lower lip, mustache wet with sweat.

"Just close it," Owen hissed at him.

Suddenly, Blue let out a piercing cry, jarring Owen and bristling him. He closed his eyes, let out a slowly and steady breathe, and he heard Barry punching in codes. Inhaling a sharp breathe, he opened his eyes to find they'd moved closer, almost within touching distance. Unmoving, trembling under the strain, the lowering track sparred to life with a mechanical whine and gate began to lower.

In a flash, Owen dropped, ducked, and rolled under the gate. It lowered slowly still, and the four girls lunged, screaming and screeching and growling, until they hit the gate, rattling it and reaching through it to him. Their teeth flashed and they clawed at the dirt, the gate thundering into place and then quieting. Owen scurried from the gate, staring at them, breathing hard and trying to focus on anything other than the blood pulsating through his ears.

They stared, vindictive.

Echo, the last female, screeched in fury.

Barry scrambled to his aide, grabbing his arms from behind and hauling him up. Unwilling to let his back to the cage, Owen stared at them and shook his head. So, they'd almost killed him and another man-again. Not really the first time. A bird somewhere in the foliage cawed, and they four of them gave their full attention to the rustling treetops. With a snort, Blue led the pack into the dense plant-life as if nothing had happened.

His first time in the cage. On the floor.

With them.

Once they left, Owen spun on his heel and shrugged off his vest, which was slick with perspiration, his shirt having soaked through. Barry scrambled, following, and the outer security fence dropped behind them with a clang. Owen draped the vest over his Triumph bike, then ran his dirty fingers through his damp hair. Puffing out a breathe, he felt his heart pulsating, wondering if it could be seen through his shirt.

"You're insane," Barry chastised him, out of breathe and slick, "Completely insane, my man! They could've killed you-"

Owen spun towards him, a smirk on his face, and patted his hand against the man's well muscled pecks, "Ah, but they _didn't,_ Barry. They didn't." He grabbed his vest, plucked the keys from the bike, and hustled towards the stairs leading up to his office and the containment yard. He took them two at a time, Barry right behind.

"But they _would've-"_

Owen shot him a sly look, "They didn't, Barry. There's something there," he slapped his hand into his palm as if to prove a point, stalking towards his office, "Something. I've gotten to them, inside their heads. They _know_ me."

"Yeah, they know you as a food source,"

Owen shook his head, barreling through the unlocked door, the door jarring open and bouncing off the wall. He reached up mid-stride and clicked the overhead fan on, Barry stopping abruptly to stare at the metal desk with his computer. Owen retrieved a box from the computer chair and let it drop to the floor melodramatically. Barry pointed at the desk, watching Owen scramble around the clutter for a pen and paperpad.

"Man," Barry wrinkled his brow, "Your desk-"

"-is an utter disaster area, much like everything else about Owen."

Both men froze, Barry spun around, Owen's eyes locked on the doorframe to the adjoining office. He frowned at the figure standing in it, hands on her hips, bright red hair perfectly styled and placed in a pulled back braid. Ash grey pleated pants completed a dark black button down silk shirt, with white-heels and a matching belt. He straightened, twirling the pen in his fingers, still unable to locate a paperpad.

"Sorry to catch you boys off guard," she sauntered toward them, "But I came by to talk to you for a second." she pointed at Owen, "That is if you can count that high."

"Very funny, Claire," he rolled his eyes at her, returning to his search, "But I _am_ a bit busy,"

"I heard," she said quickly, "But that's not the reason I'm here."

Owen squatted, popped open a drawer, and began riffling through it. At her statement he looked up to her, put a fist to his heart and made a mock-pained expression, "What? You weren't concerned about my safety?" Spotting a sticky note stack, he plucked it out and abruptly stood beside her, kicking the drawer closed, "Not even a _little_ bit?"

She gave him a smirk, "Not really."

"Ouch,"

She rolled her eyes, "I'm here because of this," she moved her hands in a circle around his desk, "You're two weeks behind on progress reports and analysis. Your feed-tracks are God knows how unkempt and you haven't filed a time card in weeks-"

Owen shot a look to his desk and then shrugged his shoulders, "It gets done,"

She gave him a look, her piercing green eyes flashing, "Yeah, unprofessionally, not on time, and sloppily. That's not how we run Jurassic World, Owen. You know that. Everything needs to be kept in place, on time, on course; otherwise, we loose-"

"-control, yeah, yeah I know," he waved her off, "I'll get on it, Claire. It's just been busy and everything."

She crossed her arms, cocking a hip and giving him a look, "Yeah, uh-huh, sure. You're working with animals that need constant observation and analysis, Owen. You can't afford to miss a beat just because one of them gulps down an oversized rat differently than they did yesterday."

He frowned.

"So," she grabbed a stack of files and then glanced at them. Cocking a brow, she tossed them back onto the mass pile of paperwork. The fan fluttered above them, raising the edge of a few stray papers. Owen still had his pen and paper at hand, studying Claire. She moved towards the door.

"So?"

"So," she frowned at him, "I've taken it upon myself to get you a field assistant. Someone to take notes, file weekly reports, and keep this," she gestured around the room, "under control." She grabbed the doorknob, then moved her hand back as if it were a dead animal, "She'll be here hopefully in a few weeks."

"You hired me a secretary?"

She smiled at him devilishly, "No, Owen; a field assistant. She's good at what she does, and she'll keep her eye on you two," she shot a look between them.

 _Feed her to the girls is what I'll do,_ Owen frowned at her and then glared.

As if reading his mind, she stated, "And you'll be nice to her, right? Show her around, make sure she knows the ropes, all that. "

Barry shared a look with him, brows rose. Owen sighed, shifted his weight, and tossed the pen and paper on the pile of unfiled paperwork. He rubbed his eyes with his hands and groaned, letting out an exasperated breathe. He nodded, shifted his fingers to peer at Claire through them, and sighed.

"Yeah. I'll play nice."

She nodded. "Good. I'll see you sometime in a few weeks."

He chuckled, crossing his arms high on his chest, "Think you can stay away that long, Claire?"

He sneered at him, "Bite me, Owen."

He laughed, "I may be able to help you with that."

She stalked out the door, throwing her hands in the air, "You're impossible, Owen Grady!"

He hurried towards the door, leaned against the frame, and watched her hurry towards her Mercedes. She slammed the door, spun out of the yard, and was gone down the road back to her little control room in her little control-freak world.


	4. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

 _Six Weeks Later_

Owen Grady was not a man easily persuaded.

At least, not when it came to his work.

Now tequila or brandy? That was another matter altogether. Asking the hot girl at the bar for a quick dance and drink? He could be talked out of that one. Democrat or Republican? He'd listen to anyone with a good argument and facts.

But not his work. No way.

It had been six fateful weeks since Claire had practically jumped him in his office about the news of his new secretary—field assistant, whatever. He'd been dreading the moment ever since, wondering how on earth he was ever going to survive a pencil pusher following him around and prying her nose in his business. He'd hated Claire every minute of everyday for forcing him into this, and her memos too.

Now, he cranked the ratchet around his hands listening to a few of his technicians go on and on about girls back on the ML, one night stands, beers, fries, football. Needless the say the hype about having a woman working the raptor project was something they'd never experienced before, and it had the guys in an uproar.

Owen just shook his head, squatted, and reached into the carburetor of the Triumph. He began working at a bolt, twisting and turning, ignoring the sweat trickling down his back. He looked to his right, sunlight sparkling on the water off the lake, the lapping waves gentle in the slight breeze of the steaming afternoon. He furrowed his brow, the ratchet slipping the bolt, and he readjusted.

He felt a small rock tick against his work boot, and he jolted up straight, casting a look to the man who'd tossed the rock. Frowning, he cracked his neck and stood. The man, who they called Briggs, was an Australian ex-poacher, who not only looked the part but acted like it too. He chuckled, nodded his head to Owen, and took a long draw on his chilled Bud Light.

"What do you think about the new chick comin'?"

Owen shrugged a shoulder and sauntered over, where Barry handed him a bottled Coors, "Don't really know I guess. Don't know her."

"Haven't had a girl work the raptor's before," another worker, Silas, chuckled, "Think she'll bail?"

Barry snorted, "Maybe. Some women are stronger than others,"

Owen quirked a brow at him, "Doubt it. Most chicks can't even stand the sight of small lizards, much less a man-eating one." He took a long drink, thumped the bottle on the picnic table, and headed back to the Triumph cycle.

"Hope she's hot,"

Owen shot the guy a "really?" look over his shoulder, then circled around the bike, as if examining it. He stopped back on the previous side he'd been working on, stooped back down, and reached for the carburetor again.

"And if she isn't?"

"Then I'll wait for the next boat to come in," Silas winked at him. Owen, slightly disgusted, rolled his eyes and slightly shook his head. He began removing another bolt when the guys went on about the latest Seahawks game.

Briggs was quiet suddenly and then posed the next question to Owen. "You still seeing that Claire dame down in control?" He stopped to drink, then lit a cigarette which he'd grabbed from behind his ear, "She was hot."

He straightened but didn't look over his shoulder, "Does it matter?"

"Well _yeah,_ mate. All the girls seem to like you the best, so if you're taken that leaves room for the rest of us to give it a go."

"You guys at like she's a trophy,"

"When you're in the market, they all are," Silas snorted. This sent him and Briggs into a roaring laughter fit, and Barry just shared a look with Owen, who puffed out an exaggerated breath.

Owen then gave Briggs a smile, "Ever wonder why you're single, Briggs?"

They quieted and Briggs glared at him for a moment. Barry took a drink, set his Coors on the table, and got up. He climbed the steps to the small bungalow and began taking off his shirt. He took off his watch, slipped the phone from his pocket, and then made his way down the steps and approached the lakebed. Owen began trying to finagle the carburetor out of it's place as Briggs and Silas began talking about Australian football.

Barry dived into the lake, and Owen slipped the bolts into his pocket.

 **. . .**

Marianne worked the rubber band around her mess of brown curls until she was satisfied with the overly messy bun no top her head. Sweat stained the back of her shirt, and her feet were sweating inside her hiking boots, which wasn't an unusual occurrence.

She stopped, listed off the bags by the door of the camper, and then counted off on her fingers the rest of her luggage to take. She made a circle where she stood, nodded once affirming her theory, and reached for her cell phone on the counter next to the small sink. She felt a warm breeze soar through the camper, and she whirled around to see the door open and Dr. Grant step inside.

He removed his hat, brushed the dust from it, and then set it on one of her bags. She smiled at him, he raised his brows at her luggage, and then headed for the fridge.

"Looks like you're ready to go," he said nonchalantly.

She nodded. "Yeah, I guess so," she puffed out a breathe, "As ready as I can be."

Alan pulled a beer can from the fridge, cracked it, and then leaned against it watching her. The fine lines around his eyes and across his forehead gave away his age, but his sparkling eyes promised youthfulness. When you worked with dinosaur bones, she supposed you never really get rid of the kid inside. She gave him a weak smile and then grabbed the water bottle by the sink and took a long drink. Run off trickled down the side of her mouth. They stared at each other for a few moments, silent, before he looked away and straightened.

She saw his concern. "I'll be ok, y'know." She approached her luggage and reached inside her messenger-style purse and checked her tickets and passports. "It's entirely safe."

"No island with 65-million year old resurrected dinosaur's is safe," she saw the memories flash through his eyes even if he'd tried to hide them. She'd read his book and heard his story multiple times, asked plenty of questions and listened to one too many drunken tales. "You know how I feel about this, Randal."

She nodded. "I do, yes," She approached him and shrugged her shoulder, leaning against the card table in the middle of the camper. "But I also know this is a once in a lifetime experience, Alan. They're promising good wage and housing and—"

"I'm not saying the job isn't good," He shot her a look, "But I'm saying it's dangerous." He crossed his arms over his chest, "It's…not the way things are supposed to be, Marianne. You even said God destroyed them because they couldn't survive with man."

She smiled at him, "So you _have_ been listening, Dr. Grant." She shrugged a shoulder, "I'll be fine. I'm going to be working with some of the best tech and security measures in the world. I'll be careful," she winked at him, "And I'll email you too." She stood, stepped into his open arms, and hugged him tightly. Resting her head against his chest and inhaled the scent of dust, sweat, and after-shave.

"I'd hope to God. I've been working two years putting up with your crap, Marianne; you'd better email." He chuckled deeply, rubbing her back gently like a father would. "Just be smart, kiddo. Safe."

"You know it,"

She stepped back and he playfully punched her chin, "Your Dad would be so proud of you, kid. You turned into a real fine young lady. I'm proud of you."

She gave him a lopsided smile and felt heat rush up her neck. "Thanks, Alan. I appreciate everything."

He smiled at her softly, "There's always a place for you here, Randal, if you ever need it. Just look me up when you get back to the States."

"Anticipating me so soon?" She stepped towards the door, grabbed some of her luggage and slung her purse over her shoulder, "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

He approached her, grabbed the rest of her luggage, and winked. "I never said I didn't have complete confidence in you, kid."

"I'm sure Mr. Masrani appreciates your opinion," Marianne snorted, stepped out of the camper, and approached the Chevy pickup. Tossing her bags into the bed, Alan followed suit, and opened the driver's door. "Don't be so negative."

"When a massive T-Rex tries to eat you for lunch, _then_ you can have an opinion, kiddo."

She rolled her eyes, smiled, and stepped up into the truck.

 **. . .**

Sophie Forester stared at the white-and-yellow polka-dotted envelope sitting on top the plastic lid to her birthday cake. She looked back to the kitchen, where her mother and Aunt were quickly preparing what she was guessing was birthday candles, and then she looked to the squirming toddler in the highchair next to the table. Sophie wrinkled her nose and sighed deeply.

"M-om," Sophie called from her place at the table, "Come _on!_ I'm ready to blow out my candles." The anticipation felt like butterflies overtaking her stomach.

"I'm coming, Sophia. Be patient," her mother called calmly from the kitchen. Sophie heard a clatter and then winced, her Aunt popping her head around the corner of the door to wink at her. Sophie beamed at her and she pointed a spoon at her.

"One more second, kiddo. We're almost there."

Sophie gave a bright, firm nod and shifted in her seat. She glanced at the cake again, noticing the painted-frosting dinosaur smiling among the white icing and dots and triangles. She was excited to see the rest of the cake, hidden beneath a dish-towel.

Dinosaurs were her favorite, much to her Mom's dismay. She loved carnivores the most, because they were the coolest and the scariest. Sophie played dinosaur's all the time, and sometimes she had them eat her Barbie's by playing time-travel and safari.

Soon enough, her mother came bursting from the kitchen with a box of matches and orange birthday candles. Her Aunt came out with a glass of water and a spoon of what she assumed was peanut butter. Her Aunt leaned against the door-frame to the kitchen, smiling at her, while her mother frantically removed the dish-towel and cake-cover. She poked the candles into the cake and her Aunt winked at her.

"Excited for your present, Soph?"

Sophie nodded. She already knew what it was, because she'd seen it on her mother's computer a few weeks ago. She didn't care, though, but would act surprised when she saw it. The excitement was tickling her entire body now, and she grinned at her Aunt, "Yeah. What did you get me?"

Her Aunt gave a playful gasp, "An Aunt never buys and tells," she chuckled as her mother struck the match and moved aside her black curls. She lit the eight candles and then turned the cake to face Sophie. Crossing her arms, her mother glanced down at her baby sister and then back to Sophie. Fishing the phone from her pocket, she poised for a picture.

Sophie stared at the cake, blankly. Instead of realistic dinosaurs, she saw happy smiling ones among dots and triangles and flowers, colored schemed in red, orange, white, and yellow. A Triceratops, T-Rex, and Apatosaurus all grinned at her, as if they'd come from a TV show instead of real books. She looked up at her Mom and gave a small smile.

"You like it, Sophie?" Her mother asked, hopeful. She didn't understand dinosaurs, or Sophie's obsession, but she had tried and Sophie knew it. She nodded, tucked a wayward curl behind her ear, and scanned the line of candles.

"Make a wish, hon," her Aunt chirped, "A really big one and see what happens."

Sophie smiled at her Aunt softly, then closed her eyes. She wished hard, wishing and wishing until they finally turned into a prayer inside her head. It rolled around her excited little brain until she popped open her eyes and blew out the candles hard. The snapping of the cameras from her Mom and Aunt buzzed, her baby sister giggled and gurgled at the sight, and Sophie pushed the cake back and looked up at her Mom, then eyed the envelope.

Her Mom noticed, "Ok, ok," she grabbed the envelope and slipped into a chair next to the high-chair. Her Aunt finished her pictures and sat across from Sophie, grabbing a knife and arranging plates for cake. "You've been such a good girl since…Daddy left," she looked away only briefly, Sophie noting her sad tone, "and helping with Zoe and all. So, me and your Aunt and uncle splurged to get you this."

Suddenly Sophie missed her Mom's brother, who had been gone for a few years for work. She then looked to her Aunt, who winked again, and nodded towards the envelope.

"Go on," she chuckled, "Open it."

Sophie beamed, snatched the envelope, and began ripping the paper. It revealed a matching card, but before she could open it, a piece of paper fell out. She was about to look down.

As if reading her mind, her Mom stopped her, "Card first," she said warningly. Sophie shrugged and she opened it, reading the message inside. It was a simple, "Happy 8Th, Sophie, we love you!" with signatures from her Mom, Aunt, and parenthesis where her Mom had written her uncle's name.

As soon as she'd glanced the card, she set it down with a firm slap and then fumbled for the paper. Unfolding the silver-ribbon trimmed glossy paper, she unfolded it and her eyes lit up. A piercing grin illuminated from her face, and all the butterflies which had been in her belly came to life and soared throughout her body. Her heart began to pound like it did when she was excited, and she felt warm all over. She began bouncing up and down.

"Oh thank you!" She exclaimed, "Thank you, thank you!" She flew from her chair, pamphlet still at hand, and wrapped her arms around her mother's neck. Her mother embraced her and chuckled, Sophie's screeches and giggles growing louder and louder. Bypassing Zoe's high-chair, she scrambled towards her Aunt and hugged her too. Her Aunt took her shoulders, playfully tweaked her nose, and planted a kiss on her cheeks.

"Happy birthday, Sophie honey."

She nodded, "I'm going, I'm going!" she jumped up and down, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She then bolted from the room towards her Mom's bedroom where the desktop computer sat. Switching on the screen, her trembling body uncontainable. She readied the screen, logged into Skype, and began calling the email addressed she had called just last night.

"Sophie," Her Mom came down the hall, Zoe gurgling in her arms, and leaned against the doorway, her Aunt beside her. Sophie looked over her shoulder as the call was still trying to connect, "What about cake-?"

The computer dinged, and Sophie whirled back around. The slightly blurry face of her uncle stared back at her as he situated the camera on his end of the call. He settled into his chair and clapped his hands together, then outstretched them as if to receive her in a hug.

" _Hey, Sophie baby! How's my favorite niece?"_

Sophie, beaming, bounced in her chair again and held up the pamphlet, pointing and then looking over her shoulder at her Mom, all smiles. Her Uncle smiled at her, waiting for her reply.

She shrieked in delight, "Uncle Owen, Uncle Owen! I'm coming to see you! I'm coming to Jurassic World!"


	5. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

The smell of salt swirled around Gray Mitchell's senses, followed by a mist of ocean water roaring up at him from the hull of the Jurassic World ferry. He gripped the railing with white-knuckles, anticipating every moment of every day of this vacation. His stomach brewed with excitement, almost as if it were a bubbling pot of water ready to boil over. He looked up to his bigger brother, Zach, and was about to point out yet another fact he'd learned about Jurassic World (he'd only visited the website about a thousand times the night before their departure) when he realized he was busy browsing through a music playlist on his phone.

He deflated, shrugging his shoulders. Leaning farther over the rail, he watched the yacht splice through the waters, the sun making the waves look like turquoise diamonds, making his back hot. Hit backpack was heavy, causing his back to sweat in the tropical climate, but he didn't rightly care. He could care less, actually. He was inbound for Jurassic World-nothing would stop him at this point. Nothing could dampen this vacation.

The passengers aboard the yacht, all anticipating land, scanned the horizon and watched the island come closer and closer into view. Gray's heart hammered against his ribs-it was really there! Really happening! He'd been dying to visit his Aunt Claire on this island, seeing what she'd been working so hard on. Really, he'd never really met Aunt Claire before, but he was excited too-if not to meet here, to see what she did here at this place. He knew she was pretty important, because she'd just given them tickets as if they were toys.

He looked back up to Zach, still absorbed in his music, and then looked down at his shoes. He wiggled his toes in anticipation. He was actually going to see real dinosaurs on this trip. He'd heard the rumors, read all the books, watched all the Youtube interviews and newscasts, but it hadn't been the same. Hearing the testimony's of the Jurassic Park survives some twenty-two years ago was old news. Now, Jurassic World had opened just four years ago, and it was prospering, safe!

He moved away from the railing to go back inside the boat. Zach obviously noticed, because he followed at a sloth-like place behind him, eyes still glued to the phone. Gray was busy watching all the people chat and move around, drinking and eating, playing and snapping pictures or reading books-normal people activity. He seated himself at a table and ran his finger along the handle of a silver knife, glinting in the sunlight. He swallowed but realized his mouth was dry. Zach plopped into the chair next across from him and looked up at Gray.

"You ok, buddy?"

Gray nodded, "Yeah. Tired of this boat," he mumbled, "I want to see the island."

Zach rolled his eyes and guffawed annoyingly, "Don't be such a whiner. We'll get there when we get there."

"And Aunt Claire will be meeting us?" He sounded hopeful, he could tell.

Zach didn't look up from his phone, "Uh huh, sure." He began texting, now ignoring Gray altogether. Gray sank back in his chair, looked out the window the vast amount of water around the boat and sighed. They'd been traveling all yesterday and today, and he was exhausted.

The smells of the tropics had made him sick at first, and the different languages and dialects had bothered him, but he'd quickly chalked it up to necessary sacrifices in light of Jurassic World. The heated excitement flowing through his body told him it would be well worth the traveling and discomfort of being away from home.

He wondered about his parents, and why they hadn't come. He lowered his gaze to his feet when he thought about them. They'd been receiving separate packages in the mail for weeks now, big manila envelopes which were heavy with papers. Finally able to bear it no longer, he'd Googled the law-offices to find they had been divorce lawyers. Tears pulled at his eyes. His Mom and Dad were getting a divorce, which was why they hadn't come on this trip. Why hadn't they told him? His stomach sank like a stone.

Then, across the yacht, he heard a little girl screaming for land. The boat instantly bristled with excitement, and Grey shot up from his chair. Bolting towards the way he'd come, he pushed and shoved his way to the observation deck until he was at the railing. The ship had picked up speed, water lapping furiously against the hull. He scanned the horizon, sadness and gloom dissipating from his thought pattern as soon as he spotted the land-mass. He felt Zach come up behind him and stare right along with him. He closed his eyes, inhaled the smell of salt water, and grinned. Zach mumbled something about a "freakin' long way to get here", but Gray didn't bother to listen.

In the end, Jurassic World would be worth it.

Right?

 **. . .**

Marianne smiled at the bartender, dressed impressively in an all-white outfit with a bright blue bowtie. Slicked back black hair and a bright white smile told her he got paid far more than he let on, but she dropped ten bucks at the bar for him anyway, since he'd went out of his way to flirt a little with her. Since it didn't happen often, she was flattered, hence the ten bucks.

Grabbing the Whiskey Seven from the bar, she nodded to him and slipped out of her chair. Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she smoothed out the edge of her dress with a nervous hand, wondering why on earth she'd opted to wear one in the first place. She supposed in the delusion of losing five pounds she'd thought it was a good idea-until she'd seen some of the _other_ sundresses this morning at breakfast, then she'd regretted the idea altogether. Marianne made her way from the bar, out the French windows onto the observation deck, and stood behind the swarm of children pointing and playing along the railings. She scanned the amounts of water around her and then felt her purse vibrate against her hip.

She pulled it out and found it was only an email notification. She filed it away for later, opting to check it once disembarking the vessel and at her place. She swallowed another drink of the Seven, looked around, and checked her watch. It was around two in the afternoon, well after lunch, and the cargo-master had told her to check back with him around one-thirty if she wanted to see her belongings and her car.

Downing the rest of the Whiskey, she slid the glass across the counter, where the bartender anticipated it. He placed it beside the other dirty glasses as she passed, nodded to her and she headed towards the descending stairs. Fishing around her purse for her printed off paperwork, she unfolded them and descended two more flights before reaching the cargo area of the ship. Meeting the man at the entrance, he thoroughly checked her paperwork before letting her inside.

The only car aboard the yacht, her classic '81 Camaro stuck out like a sore thumb among the other luggages-crates, bags, boxes, supplies, you name it. Packed with everything she could possibly bring with her, the only thing she could fit inside of it was her carry-on and her purse, save herself to drive it. Marianne had insisted it come with her on the journey, since she anticipated Isla Nublar to be her long-term home, unwilling to leave the muscle car behind. It had, afterall, been with her since she'd gotten her license at sixteen years old. She wasn't about to let it go just because she was moving to another country.

She leaned against it, listening to the accentuated sound of the water against the yacht's hull. She was underwater now, a thought that brought her less comfort every time she realized it. Running her hand across the smooth metal-flake paint job, she smiled at the fender of the car an then crossed her arms over her chest. Someday, her father had told her, a man was going to love her as much as he did her car-a running joke in their family. If only he could see it now with it's fresh paint and pinstripes, he would've made the joke a truity.

A thought niggled in the back of her mind, along with Alan's warning before she'd boarded the plane: _"Life will find a way, Marianne. Or it will die trying."_ She hadn't really understood it then and she didn't get it now, but she'd nodded and told Alan otherwise, promising to let him know when she got in and safe and back to work.

Not that her work would be any different-save, perhaps, the fact she'd be working with live dinosaurs instead of dead ones. The reality had hit her like a ton of bricks on the plane: these were real, living, breathing things these dinosaurs-and she'd be studying them. Alan had warned her of the intelligence of some of the species; and if he hadn't been exaggerating (which, Alan Grant wasn't known particularly for), scared her a bit. The entire idea of the park scared her a bit, truthfully.

And if it didn't scare here, it fascinated her.

The cargomaster called across the bay and waved her toward him, shouting that she needed to get above deck to prepare her things for disembarking. She nodded, thanked him, and hurried back up the flights of stairs to her room, where her things were waiting and packed. She smoothed the edge of her green, button down dress again, and hurried down the hallway. Something rubbed against her ankle, and she stooped to fix the strap of her sandal.

As she adjusted it, a short body bumped her forehead. Marianne caught herself and looked over her shoulder to find a little girl mumbling an apology and scrambling to pick up a dayplanner sprawled with sticky-notes and pictures and ultimately a ticket. She couldn't have been more than seven or eight years old, with icy blue eyes, sunglasses pushed up on her head and backpack on her back. Marianne looked down the hallway for any sight of her parents, but found no one save her, the little girl, and staff member midway down the hall. The little checked her hand, where a scrawled number was written on her palm, almost entirely smudged off.

"Are you lost?" Marianne asked softly. She positioned to her knees and the little girl looked at her, smiling softly and tucking a loose curl behind her ear. She nodded, sheepish apparently.

Marianne smiled. "It's a big boat. I got lost too. What is your room number?"

She replied, looking to her hand, "355. B-Deck." She, surprisingly, had somewhat of a raspy voice for a young girl. It was calming, though, and Marianne nodded to her and rose to her full height, readjusting her dress.

"I'm on B-Deck too," Marianne smiled at her, "But my room is 271. Can I help you find your?"

She swallowed, as if nervous, and then looked to the stairs as if she were planning a get- away. Marianne quickly dug out her papers from her purse and showed them to the girl, pointing at the upper left hand corner.

"It's ok. I work at Jurassic World," she said quietly. The girl looked up to her and smiled softly, as if relieved. Marianne put the papers away and looked down the hallway, "So. Room 355, huh? I'll bet it's that way, since my room is down there," she pointed behind her. The girl nodded.

"I remember coming from this way I think." She turned and began walking, Marianne speeding up to walk beside her. There was quietness between them for a moment as they checked room numbers before Marianne thought to introduce herself.

"My name is Marianne," she moved aside one of her stray hairs by blowing it. She adjusted her purse strap and the little girl looked down to her dayplanner again, still open in her hands. She pointed to a three digit number, 355, again as if to confirm it to herself.

"I'm Sophie. Sophie Forester." She smiled at Marianne. Her voice was louder than before, clearer, as if she'd opened up now to her. Marianne nodded once and they took a corner quickly, s her missing the number but the girl keeping her eyes on them for her.

"That's a pretty name. My brother had a cat named Sophie when I was a kid."

The girl said nothing, and then stopped. She turned to face a door, marked 355, and stepped towards it. She pointed to the number and reached into her pocket. "This is it," she said. She pulled the keycard from her pocket and scanned it. The door lock clicked, flashed green, and she turned the handle. Standing in the doorway, she turned to Marianne and closed the dayplanner.

"Well, here you are Sophie Forester." Marianne put her hands on her knees and smiled at her brightly. "Good work. You hardly needed help."

"Thank you," she said, looking over her shoulder to the room. She stepped back, but Marianne stayed stationary. The girl was playing her cards close to her chest, smart. "for helping me."

"At your service," Marianne bowed playfully and winked at her. "Have a good time, ok? If you need help, find someone in a uniform with a badge and they'll make sure your taken care of. Sound good?" She hadn't even started working here yet and already was sounding like an employee. Did she need a life or what?

"Will I see you again?"

Marianne shrugged a shoulder, "I don't know, maybe. I work with some of the animals, so I don't know how much you'll see me-"

Her eyes brightened and her mouth opened slightly, as if she were in the presence of not a human being but a goddess of some type. Marianne's brows rose behind her glasses slightly as she asked, "You work with...the _dinosaurs_?" She sounded awe-inspired.

Marianne nodded, "Yeah. Some of them."

"Which ones?"

"Well I-"

"Hey, dude, hurry up!"

Marianne whipped her attention to her right, where two boys came roaring around the corner, one smaller and the other a high school kid. They had wide smiles on their faces, obviously brothers, and they bounded down the hallway until they reached their room, where the older boy slid the card and they vanished inside. More voices came from around the corner, and Marianne stepped away from the door. She smiled weakly at the little girl. "You'd better get your stuff together, Sophie. Sounds like we're almost ready to unload."

The girl nodded, began closing the door, and thanked her again before closing it tightly. The lock dropped into place and Marianne stepped away from the door. She made her away around the throng of people now plaguing the hallways until she made it to her room.

Their excited chatter told her they had arrived.

. . .

Claire pressed her cell phone to her ear, then plugged her other one with a manicured finger, trying to block out the throng of people's voices at the docks of the ferries that sunny afternoon. She glanced up to the sky, spotted not a single cloud, then looked to the boats again where people continually poured from their landings. She huffed as Masrani was still blabbering on about the Verizon Wireless endorsement from earlier that morning.

 _"And you are certain you have closed the deal, Claire?"_

She nodded as if he could see her, standing on toes hidden behind her nude Vera's to scan the crowds, "Yes. Absolutely certain. They loved the I-Rex idea and were behind it, one hundred percent." _Not that you even care about the costs or money behind this place,_ she added to herself.

" _Excellent, excellent. Where are you, Claire? I'd like to discuss the ramifications-"_

She rolled her eyes, "I'm at the docks, Mr. Masrani. My nephews are arriving today and I-"

He said something, muffled, to someone on his end before coming back to her. Claire frantically watched the people, straining to find Zach and Grey, hoping to God they hadn't changed all that much in four, five-how many years had it been? Mr. Masrani came back to her, " _Ah, very good. I will see you when you return from your engagement with your nephews. We'll be in touch."_

"Yes we will, sir."

" _Have a good time, Claire! Get some sun, enjoy the park, eat some good food! Enjoy yourself and your nephews! I will expect you later this evening then. Good day."_

Before she could reply, he signed off and the phone went dead. She ended the call and held the phone in both of her hands, which held a slight tremble. She bit down on her lower, glossed lip, anxiety churning in her stomach like spoiled soup. Why had she insisted on inviting her nephews out here in the first place? Really she'd thought her sister wouldn't go for it, sending her kids across the ocean to a woman who couldn't even cook toast much less be responsible for children, but she had, and no here she sat.

"Aunt Claire?!"

She turned and saw the bobbing head of a taller, dark haired boy hurriedly shove his way through the crowds of people towards her. The throng parted to reveal a shorter boy, with lighter hair run up to her and stop before her. Claire, uneasy with the suddenly arrival, lowered to his height and smiled at him, scanning over him. She didn't recognize him since she'd seen him last. Granted, he'd been a baby, but still.

"Gray, Zach!" She put on her best excited voice as Zach joined them. She outstretched her arms and wrapped them around Gray, who hugged her back before she pulled away. She touched his cheek with a finely polished hand and then stood to smile awkwardly at Zach. "It's been so long, boys. I'm glad you made it safely." There was silence a few moments before she asked, "Did you have a good journey?"

"Long," Zach mumbled.

She smiled at him weakly, "Yeah, it can be. It'll be better on the way home, I promise." She smiled at Gray now, who was excitedly looking around. He looked about seven or eight-had it been _that_ long? She swallowed, kicked herself for not staying in touch with her sister's family, and then moved to stand between the two of them. Opting to drape her arms over their shoulders, they began walking.

"I'm glad you're here," she partially lied to them, "and I'm very excited that you get to see what I've been working on all these years. What's it been? Four, five years?"

Zach gave her an agitated look, "Seven, actually, but close enough."

She winced, "Well, three years of development and paperwork does things to the brain," she chuckled weakly, "But, four years into operation and we're better than ever." They made for the steps, Claire cursing herself for wearing heels instead of flats.

Their silence was interrupted when Claire recognized a name floating across the docks, coming from a young girl's voice behind her, grating on her nerves, "Uncle Owen! Uncle Owen!" She whirled around, looking, before she spotted Owen Grady's form standing a head-taller than most of the guests to her eleven o'clock. He instantly sank beneath the throng of people, presumably to his knees, and then rose with a young girl in his arms.

He showered the black-haired girl in kisses, grinning uncontrollably, the girl squealing in delight and beaming. Claire frowned at this, Zach and Gray watching her suspiciously. Owen Grady? An Uncle? When had that happened? She watched them a moment, as they conversed, their voices inaudible in all the shuffling of the people and chatter of the guests. Claire swallowed thickly as Owen hauled the girl's suitcase over his shoulder, carrying her expertly in his other arm.

They were approaching her, unaware.

She whirled back around, looked to Zach and Gray, and ushered them forward. "Come on, let's get moving. Lots of ground to cover," she said hurriedly, meshing in with the throng of people walking up the steps to the courtyard of shops, restaurants, and other buildings. Her chest burned with heat at the thought of Owen standing behind her, potentially watching her. She wanting nothing to do with that lazy, uncontrollable rogue. He infuriated her.

She swerved from the crowd, making her way over to an unmanned, blue-and-silver Polaris side-by-side. Slipping into the driver's seat, she looked at the boys, put her foot on the brake, and waved them to come. They shared a look, grinned, and bolted towards the vehicle. Zach slipped in beside her and Gray took the backseat.

She started the vehicle, spotted Owen and-apparently-his niece move past them, unaware of their presence, and shifted it into forward. Giving it gas, she lurched forward and edged her way through the courtyard to the hotel just south of the control hub. She looked to Zach, and then over her shoulder slightly at Gray, both of them an inspired, amazed heap of tourist. She smiled at them and steered the side-by-side towards the hotel's front doors, pulling in behind a ferrying Mercedes-Benz van. She left the side-by-side with the valet, Zach and Grey following her into the hotel. She turned to them, outstretched her arms, and introduced them to the foyer.

"Boys," she said lightly, "Welcome to Jurassic World."


	6. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

The boat had jarred to a stop at port, the employee's scurrying about like mice in a maze seeing to different duties and stations, stopping every few moments to answer the questions of nagging guests and screaming children. The entire platform was chaotic just off the boat, as lines were tossed and tied to secure the yacht, receiving teams readied chartered vehicles, and the cargo was set to be unloaded. The chatter was overwhelming for Marianne as she molded into the queue of people descending the gangplank, her eyes scanning the horizons, shielded by her Ray Ban aviator's after having been traded in place of her prescriptions.

It was _hot._ Scorching. The shufflings and shovings of people squeezing against her, all anxiety, didn't make it any better. Her skin was hot and she could feel a sunburn setting in, but she wasn't hindered. She scanned the docks, looking around at her surroundings, finding shimmering water to the west and a hill with built-in stairs to her right, which could only indicate the park was just a few yards off. Marianne got her answer when the sunlight glinted off a teepee shaped building in the distance, reeking of money and modernist architecture, and when she beheld it she knew just how much money she had gotten into. Leave it to Hammond in his dying breathe to make sure no expanses were spared.

A woman behind her groaned irritably and shoved Marianne forward, Marianne not bothering to cast a look behind her. She just followed the people down the plank, her heart hammering within her chest with excitement and curiosity. She began to make note of her surroundings, making sure to take in details in case she would need them. She was welcomed by a sailor-dressed girl who smiled limply, her hair falling out of an elaborate braid from the humidity and, probably stress.

She stepped off the plank and was on the docks now, the wooden planks reeking with salt and quavering with use. Marianne looked around the people swarming about her like bees when her eyes settled on the cargo hatch beginning to lower, a team of employees receiving it to prepare for unloading. She shoved passed people with mumbled apologies until she'd cleared the throng and could somewhat breathe, approaching a younger boy with a checklist. Reaching out to tap his shoulder, he swung about abruptly.

"Something the matter, miss?" His Indian accent startled her, and she blinked behind her sunglasses, but shook her head. Marianne peered into the cargo hold, to find her Camaro fit and ready for unloading, reverse lights lit extravagantly white. It slowly rolled backwards towards the ramp and relief invaded her tightly wound chest. "Miss?" he asked again.

"Yes, everything's great," she reached into her bag, setting her carry-on beside her and fished out her paperwork. "Marianne Randal, and that's my car." She nodded to the Tardis blue metal-flaked car, complete with ivory pin striping starting from the front of the car and running across the sides. Her heart calmed at the sight of it, and the boys' brows rose as he checked the list.

The boy looked at the papers, nodded, and waved the car back, "Excellent. We'll have her unloaded in one moment, miss. I'm afraid we'll have to have the vehicle inspected and documented at the garage before we'll allow you to take it." Marianne's brow wrinkled at this, and she looked back from the car to the boy again.

"What? I was told I-"

"Park proceedings, Miss Randal," he grinned at her as her car hit the docks, the metal-flake glinting brightly in the sunlight. She stared at it, then the man driving it, watching his as if he were going to wreck the car instead of drive it. Much to her relief he inched the car towards the throng of people, falling in line with ATV's and Polaris side-by-sides trying to edge their way towards the roads. "All will be well, I assure you, Miss. We'll take right good care of your car."

Her mouth parched, and she nodded slowly, defeated.

He turned from her, tipped his head in a goodbye, and set to unloading the rest of the cargo. She fell into step beside the inching Camaro, people stopping only briefly to stare at it and give her confused looks. She rapped on the glass lightly with her knuckles and wiggled her fingers in a hello wave to the man, who nodded and looked as if he were a kid in a candy store.

 _Oh, God, please. Watch over my car,_ she prayed, looking towards the sky.

More shoving and chaos as the Camaro veered off to follow the rest of the vehicles up a dirt road. It vanished over the hill which led to the park, and she could no longer see it driving away. Panic wrenched through her stomach and into her chest, sweat trickling down her shoulder blades. Swearing to exercise more than she did, she fell into step behind a couple pushing a stroller and holding tightly to a little boy's hand before the piercing shriek erupted from behind her.

"Uncle Owen! Uncle Owen!"

She turned to see the fleeting young girl with black hair and a pink sundress fly by her, looking oddly familiar. The crowds parted to let the girl pass, and Marianne followed her with her eyes, only to find the man who was standing a head-taller than most guests dip to a knee and receive the girl with open arms. He was all smiles, wrapping bulging arms around her tiny frame and picking her up as if she were nothing.

The sight stopped Marianne dead in her tracks. And if it didn't, he certainly did.

At least six feet tall, he had broad shoulders and as she'd already noted, rippling arms. A thick chest accentuated his shoulders, followed by a strong set of legs thick with what she'd assume were ripping thighs and calves. Wavy, light brown hair was cut as if it were an outgrown military shave, and he had stubble along his jaw which had a nicely grown mustache. Marianne couldn't tell if his eyes were navy blue or dark brown, but it didn't matter, because she was more fascinated with his natural tan than she would've preferred. Outfitted in jeans, belt, a faded cream-colored cotton shirt and a safari vest, he was the epitome of testosterone and Rambo all rolled into one delicious package that sent a wave of butterflies into her stomach.

No. She wasn't looking for anyone.

Not that it mattered.

She recognized the little girl as Sophie, from B-Deck. Marianne's lips curved into a lop-sided smile. So, she did have an adult here after all. Feeling somewhat relieved for the young lady, Marianne smiled at their reunion, watched as the man obviously named Owen hauled the girl's luggage over his shoulder without struggle, and then turned into the now thinning stream of people headed for the stairs.

Marianne stopped at the top of the steps, frozen by the sight. A court-yard style street of cobblestone met her gaze, lined with shops and eateries of all types, swarmed with tourism and complete with jungle-looking architectural theme. A fountain with seating around it was bubbling in the center of it all, complete with exotic and colorful flowers, a roaring Tyrannosaur figurine amidst the streaming water. It was pristine and kept, this street, and was overseen by the teepee-like building raised slightly raised with three flights of concrete steps leading up to it.

A young boy told her to move it and she stepped forward, watching as people filed past her like cattle, wondering if it was like this every day or if it was just the heat. She checked the paperwork, scanned the letter, and found she was supposed to meet someone at the Samsung Innovation Center. She glanced up at the teepee building and in the distance she made out the name:

 _Samsung Innovation Center._

Nodding once to confirm the resemblance, she stalked off towards the building, carry-on luggage at hand. Weaving in and out of tourist for a good ten minutes, she found herself at the heavy, beautifully crafted doors and pushed them open, only to be met with a buzzing, chaotic hive of running children, clambering of excitement, and chattering people. Swallowing, she grabbed her bag and walked inside, only to be almost smashed by two jetting children.

Complete with cathedral ceilings, the center was an amazing feat of technology, modeling, and structuralism. Marianne could hardly believe the detail of the building, complete with activity stations and information plaques. A DNA diagram was lit on an astoundingly high-tech computer screen, as well as a vivid retelling of the supposed Big Bang in the next corner. As she entered in, a staged paleontological dig allowed children to mingle with the art of tool, bone, and dust, and across the way children explored the science behind DNA and cell splicing. All of this sent Marianne's senses into a swirling sensation, until there was a light _ping_ and then a swell of orchestra music. Children hurriedly gathered to center of the room, where a circle was cleared on the floor and a flickering of light began to form.

Marianne joined them, curiosity spiked. Dropping her bag, she watched as the light fell into place as a holographic dinosaur, one so large as to consume the presence of attention and very air out of the room. Marianne's heart swelled and her breathe hitched in her throat, causing her to gasp and cover her mouth. The enormous form of an Apatosaurus in holographic detail loomed before, moving slowly and looking around as if it were indeed an alive, lumbering giant. She swallowed thickly, the children cheering, her reaching out a steady hand to run her fingers through the streams of light-

"Miss Randal,"

Surprised, she gasped and whirled to her left, off-guarding a polite, petite looking strawberry blonde woman, who looked just as sheepish as Marianne felt in that moment. Complete in a floral printed sundress with black leggings and a cobalt blue cardigan, she pressed a Samsung tablet to her chest and tipped her head to the side as if trying to figure Marianne's presence out. Her graceful but curled hair fell just below her shoulders, and she had copper colored eyes. Marianne gathered herself and nodded, looking back to the hologram and then the woman.

"Yes, that's me. Marianne."

The woman smiled softy, extended a hand, and nodded once. "Vivian. Zara, Miss Dearing's assistant, was supposed to meet you, but unfortunately she's been...occupied," Marianne shook her hand before Vivian gestured with her head to walk, "Miss Dearing has arranged for-"

Marianne grabbed her bag, strode to keep pace, and then interjected, "Before anything else happens, I would like to get my car-"

Vivian smiled at her, heading for a flight of airy steps, "-we're getting your car registered and inspected as we speak. Claire would like to meet you first and get you on schedule with your interview."

Interview? Hadn't she already gotten the job? Confusion fuddled her mind, but kept her busy as they climbed the steps. Vivian veered left, towards a clerk's desk, patted the smooth surface and was instantly awarded a small box, with the Jurassic World logo printed on the front. She handed it to Marianne, who had by now opted to sling her carry-on's strap over her shoulder. Slightly out of breath, Marianne looked at the box and then Vivian.

"This has your basics," Marianne accepted the box, getting the idea Vivian wasn't too keen on holding it much longer-or her present job, "ID badge, keys, map of the resort, a pager and a copy of the schedule and directory," she'd already pressed the ascending arrow to the elevator before Marianne could even take her eyes off the insides of the box. "The rest is inside your bungalow."

"Bungalow?" Marianne questioned, stepping towards the elevator, "I thought it was an apartment?"

Vivian shook her head, "Maybe, but rooming assignments just turned over last Tuesday. Anyone working north of the resort gets private bunaglow's." She shrugged. "It's been a mess trying to move everyone around."

Marianne shrugged, situating the box in her purse, "I could imagine. A thousand employee's is a lot of boxes." Sensing Vivian's warming up, she smiled at the woman. Vivian smiled back as the elevator leveled off and the doors opened.

Vivian promptly exited, Marianne quickly following. She stopped abruptly upon sight of the room, where a rough looking African American man in a polished suit skewered her with his eyes, Vivian hushedly explaining she was with her. Marianne's gaze was forever on the room before her.

A large set-up of a solitary screen made up the wall in front, one big mess of the park's system up for everyone to see. Security camera's, paddock's footage, a holographic map of the park, shop footages, attraction reports, a live body count- _everything_ , and more Marianne imagined, was up there. Three rows of tech stations, two bodies to each touch computer, were symmetrically lined like a school room, all facing the giant screen. Multiple screen behind them and a panel of switches and buttons flickered brightly. The room was surprisingly quiet, only the occasional keyboard clicking and technician chatter interrupted the whirs and dings of the computer systems.

Marianne took it all in, before spotted Vivian conversing with a woman, outfitted in a purely ivory outfit, quietly. The woman, bright and alarming red hair with perfectly trim cheekbones and accentuated makeup glanced at her, scanned her head to toe, and nodded, sipping a drink from a ceramic mug. Vivian returned to a seat next to a black haired, dark skinned Indian gentleman, wearing a tacky button down and a familiar logoed t-shirt.

The red-head approached her, nude heels clicking on the waxed floors. Suddenly feeling as if she were on display under a microscope, Marianne flushed red and felt her stomach hit her ankles. She swallowed thickly, the woman stopping before her and giving her a small smile.

"You must be Marianne Randal," she extended a hand, "I'm Claire Dearing, Operations Manager here. Good to meet you."

Marianne gave what she assumed to be an awkward half smile before accepting Claire's hand and shaking it. Her hands were smooth and soft compared to Marianne's calloused ones, but she didn't seem to notice, "Good to put a name with a face, Miss Dearing."

Claire guffawed lightly, waving her off, "Please, call me Claire." She glanced over her shoulder and pointed at the Indian man, "Lowery, check and see if they're all ready at Paddock Six for Marianne here. I'll be taking her down myself," she smiled at Marianne now, waving at her to head back towards the elevator, "And let them know to be ready and halfway presentable."

The man called Lowery nodded and gave her a thumbs up, "You got it, boss." He raised his chin to Marianne and then his brows, "Welcome aboard, newbie. Good luck out there."

"You're going to need it," Claire confirmed seriously, but with a smile, as she stepped into the elevator car. Marianne hustled and joined her, only to push aside a stray curl from her now limp bun. She all confusion, but went with it, her carry-on suddenly heavy on her shoulder. Sweat cascaded down her temple and settled into her hair, her sunglasses rubbing the back of her ear raw.

"I am, huh?" Marianne asked, puffing out a breathe. Claire gave her a side look, pressed the down button, and gave her a smile.

"Yep. If there's one thing for certain about Owen Grady, is that he isn't the most...civil person on the planet. You'll find that out in short order. Hopefully you know your stuff, Miss Randal, because Owen will hold you to it. And if he won't, his girls will."

Marianne gave her a look. Owen? That couldn't possibly be the guy from the docks? No, no, surely not. She couldn't be that lucky. Not with her running history with men. "His girls?" She dared.

Claire gave her a half smile as the car jerked to a stop on the ground floor. "Welcome to Jurassic World, Miss Randal. This way. It's time for your interview."


	7. Chapter Four

**Author's Note:** Wow. Just wow! I guess I didn't realize how much of a start this thing would get-but it's picking up steam rather nicely! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and is tuned into this...It was just an idea! After seeing the movie twice, Marianne's character came alive to me and I just couldn't resist. I know it has a slow start, but that's necessary for character development. Hopefully by now you have a bit from each character to go off of, and they'll develop more as the story progesses.

Keep in mind, this is before the events of the park. I'm having the Mitchell boys and Sophie spend an entire summer at the park, just to build relationships. We're still a way out from the disaster-phase of Jurassic World, so buckle up; it's gunna be a ride. I am pleased to see you're support and feedback and only hope it continues! Thank you!

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

After being lead to a stylish, brand new Mercedez-Benz GLE coupe, Marianne had—somewhat reluctantly—placed her things in the back of the vehicle, the red-headed woman eyed her suspiciously while attempting to look busy with her phone. Marianne could tell otherwise the woman was less than impressed with her, but she didn't rightly care. She was so caught up in the fastness of the events should could hardly keep her head on straight. Slamming the trunk door closed, Claire brushed passed her, smelling like roses, and moved to the driver's side. Marianne approached the passenger door and opened it, slipping inside.

Claire took off quickly, the car having the torque of a race car. The tires licked gravel and they were off on a maintenance road, Claire driving the car expertly—more like Dale Jr. than a business woman. Marianne clutched the passenger's door, trying to appear normal, as Claire flicked on the AC.

'I'm assuming Vivian already explained rooming arrangements," Claire interjected, her eyes bolting to the cup holder where her phone was buzzing as it received a call.

"Not entirely—" she cut Marianne off by holding up a finger, Marianne rolling her eyes and gazing at the window as they flew past foliage and tropical plant life. A bird dashed out in front of them, but Claire didn't seem to notice.

"This is Claire. Hi." She jerked her eyes between the road, and Marianne, the phone pressed to her ear with her other hand. She steered the car around a curve, barely slowing, and Marianne's heart leapt into her throat. Was she really that much of a burden to her schedule? Marianne wondered if they'd make it there alive briefly as Claire continued. "What do you mean, weapons? Are you certain?" The woman's delicate, porcelain looking skin furrowed at the brows, then raised a few inches at her sudden surprise, "You're positive?" She gave Marianne a quick, quirked look.

Marianne looked at her, Claire turning her attention back to the road. She nodded as if the person could see her comprehending and then she ended the call with a quick "yeah, sure." Letting the phone clatter back into the cup holder, she cleared her throat, checked her speed, and pressed the gas. "Miss Randal—"

By her assumption, it was Marianne's turn to interject, "Marianne."

Claire, seemingly caught off guard, corrected, "Marianne. My maintenance garage has thoroughly examined your vehicle and done a safety inspection. It seems they came across an…irregularity."

Her heart seized. "What type of irregularity?" Her tone became brash, short, and heated. She'd checked everything herself pre-load and en-route, made sure the car was in pristine condition before they'd left the mainland. She couldn't be having her Chevy breaking down in the middle of the tropics, and she'd had the dealership run diagnostics just to be safe. There was no way something could've happened to it, unless having been tampered with.

Claire must've caught onto her concern, "Nothing mechanical, I assure you," she took another curve, then swerved off the road to the fork heading due east, "My engineer tells me he's identified... _weapons_ inside your car."

Oh. Marianne released a tight breathe and nodded, relaxing in her seat. So they'd discovered her Beretta 9mm and her serrated KA-BAR. Claire, looking somewhat concerned, waited for Marianne's reply. "Oh, yeah? I forgot to mention those I guess."

"You guess? Miss Randal—"

"—Marianne," she said irritably.

"Marianne," Claire huffed, "This is a park. The safety of our occupants is of utmost concern here," she shook her head, "Having undocumented weapons on the island is strictly prohibited per park policy. I'm sorry, but they'll have to be confiscated."

Marianne, giving her a horrified and brazened look, shook her head. "They _are_ documented and I'm properly trained in handling them if anyone should ask," she situated herself in her seat, "I have licensure allowing them to be legally on my person at all times, and if that's necessary for the park, I'll give you copies. But, I'm not about to hand over my gun and my knife when I'm on an island packed with genetically modified dinosaurs who have no idea what century they're in and are packed with instinct—" she took in a breathe, Claire glaring at her now, "and you can't by any means guarantee that I'm not going to need them, so, you can't deny me my personal rights to safety. I'm sorry, but my gun and my knife aren't up for grabs."

"I can assure you, Mr. Masrani has spared no expense in ensuring we have the best and safest technology and security precautions in the world," Claire spoke quickly, as if she were defending herself—and she probably was, as Marianne guessed she had her entire life and career invested in this park. "If Jurassic World was unsafe, we wouldn't be open and functioning superbly. Mr. Masrani, never in good conscience, would've allowed the park to open if he thought it were unsafe for any reason."

 _Or if he had a conscience,_ Marianne told herself before she added, "I'd imagine that's what Hammond told his investors and his lawyers, too."

Claire shot her a narrowed gaze, "We have things under control,"

"These are living, breathing dinosaurs, Miss Dearing," Marianne spat, frown lines forming on her forehead, "Titans. You can't just make a eighteen thousand pound T-Rex and think you have it under control. That's were Hammond and his people messed up: they failed to understand that we aren't in control of _anything_." Marianne paused a moment, looking out her window, before she added, "And hopefully your man made note of the bow in the back under the seat."

Claire began to slow the car, gaze focused out the window, her face stone cold before she whipped a look at Marianne. The road ended just up ahead, Marianne noting they had started following a ridge which turned into a cliff a few miles back. The ocean, roaring up onto the rocks hundreds of feet below, crested white before crashing onto the rocks. Claire stopped the car, Marianne focusing her attention away from the ocean and to the set up which she assumed to be Paddock Six. Claire parked the car, said nothing, and briskly grabbed her phone and exited. She slammed the door rudely, Marianne unbuckling her belt.

She opened the door, and watched the scene before her, Claire entering the buzzing workplace as if she were God's gift to the workforce. Four sweaty, filthy men hauled crates from the back of a fashionable new Jeep Wrangler, walking up the steps to an elaborate walkway system. Claire slipped by them and began heading up the steps, where three more men were talking in the middle of the circular paddock. Marianne, furrowing her brow and thinking how much of jerk the Operations Manager was, followed.

The men slowed their work as she approached, watching her as if she were meat dangling above a pack of hungry wolves. She swallowed, not comfortably with such oppressively sultry stares. Hurrying up the steps, she heard Claire grab the attention of the talking group of men.

"Gentleman," she inserted, her voice sickeningly sweet and professional, "I trust you are prepared to meet your new field assistant?" Marianne's head popped above the railing, her casting a quick glance in their direction, while the three men's gaze immediately swept to her. She looked at her feet, graced the top step, and then looked up. She stopped, one hand still on the railing, her eyes widening a few inches behind her glasses.

The Uncle. Owen.

Her breath hitched. So it _had_ been him.

Every nerve tightened within her body and pounded a warning to her skeleton, and she forced herself to release the railing. Release, step forward, one foot at a time. The commands became clear and focused in her brain, as if she were relearning how to walk. Claire, noticing she'd lost the attention of the three men, turned to face her, arms crossed before her. She gave Marianne a light smirk, and Marianne suddenly wished she could shoot lasers out of her eyes at the woman. Her irritation towards her kept expending, which wasn't particularly a good sign. Marianne a stopped a few feet from their group.

"Gentleman," Claire stated clearly, "Miss Marianne Randal, your new field assistant." She gestured towards Marianne as if they were old time friends, "Miss Randal," she sauntered towards her to stand beside her and backed up a few steps, "Meet Owen, Barry, and Vic." She nodded to each as she presented them.

Marianne could've sworn she'd heard three names, but she was so focused on the one she could hardly keep air moving into her lungs. She was certain her eyes were going melt out of her head she was so hot. Why did she always get so nervous around the good looking men? Shaking herself out of it, she extended a hand to the middle man, a heavier set greying guy with dark eyes and a gait. He shook her hand, "Good to meet you."

He scanned her over, "Dang. I didn't know they hired girls to do this job."

Claire chuckled, "I can assure you, Vic, she comes with the highest qualifications and recommendations." Marianne glanced at her as she finished shaking hands with the African American man, "We wanted to be sure we had the best."

Finally, the man called Owen stepped up, sauntered over and extended a hand, a lopsided grin on his face. He had sparkling, dark eyes, and she noted they were indeed the navy blue, as she had guessed. He radiated a heroic aura, one that was packed not only with testosterone but with control, and practiced ease. She took it, shook it firmly, and he nodded to her and then glanced at Claire, "Only the best for out here, huh, Claire?" He then looked back to Marianne, scanned her, and smiled. "Hey. Owen Grady."

Even his _name_ sounded heroic.

Claire gave him a pointed look, then walked over to the other walkway, which met in the middle and connected with three others going different directions, a big 'X'. She interlaced her fingers in front of her and peered down to the inside of the paddock, the others following, Marianne coming up beside Claire. She looked down, to find the ground bare and painted with a thick foliage of jungle-like plants and fallen logs. A worn trail, heavy with use, circled the perimeter of the paddock. It was eerily quiet.

'When did you get here?" Owen asked, his brow wrinkling with the question. Marianne shot him a look.

"This afternoon, about an hour ago."

Owen's brows lifted in surprise, "And you're out here already? Quick work," he gave Claire a smile, "But, I'm glad you came when you did. We'ere about to do a skin check and—"

"Owen!" came a thick accent from below. Owen turned, and in two strides was at the outer railing, peering over. The four of them watched him, Marianne then looking down at the paddock. A rustling moved in a bush, then was gone as the breeze stilled the plant back into solace. Suspicion cocked her awareness like a gun.

"Yeah, what's up, Briggs?"

"You wanna set the main gate to lock or what? It's down, but it ain't locked into place, mate."

"You got it," Owen nodded, saluting, and then swinging himself around to the steps. He waved them forward to follow him down, "Just come with me and we'll get the girls into place."

They obeyed, and were soon at the main gate. Owen opened the exterior fencing door and him and the African American man entered, Vic and Marianne and Claire hanging back. The outer fence clanged back into place, Vic lacing his arms through and leaning heavily against it. Owen and Barry conversed, Marianne watching past them for any movement into the paddock.

"The main gate always stays locked—"

A squeal of panic shot the air, laced with terror. More of a shriek than a squeal, but it was animal nonetheless. Marianne's nerves tightened and panic soured her stomach.

"Pigs LOOSE! Pigs loose, pig's loose!" The cry came above, prepubescent, and the walkway rattled above them. They all shot their attention upward, where a lanky boy held a reaching assist. He jetted out to the middle of the walkway, when the rustling of foliage caused Owen and the black man to run to gate. They watched a pink piglet squealed, bolted across the clearing, the boy lowering the assist into the paddock to help it out.

"No, NO!" Owen hollered at him.

Too late.

There was a high-pitched squeal, a flash of grey and green, and then the slamming of a metal door into place. Marianne gapsed and stepped back, Claire screaming, as the assist flew from the boy's hand above, his body jerking out of the walkways and tumbling downward. In an instant he hit the ground hard, moaned.

The animal, hissing, whipped its head to look at him.

Marianne's heart pitched and she flung herself at the door, fumbled with the latch, and yanked it open. Rushing inside, she bolted towards the main gate with Owen and the other man, whom she recalled was named Barry, and watche din horror as three more animals slid to a stop before the first. Her ears pumped with blood as she recognized them, horrifically, from Alan's stories and his book and his research. Her mouth parched.

Raptors.

They fanned out, circling the poor boy who was scrambling and dragging his butt through the dirt, panic lacing his shallow breathes. The animals lowered their bodies, arms outstretched and clawed fingers twitching, ready to pounce any moment. They hissed, screeching, communicating with one another and opened their mouths slightly, sporting rows of pristine and sharp teeth. The boy began to whimper now, and Marianne gave Owen a befuddled and brazened look.

"Do something!" She screamed at him. Owen shot her a look, and a second later he slammed a fist into the control panel and pressed the amber colored button. An alarm sounded, the raising mechanism whined mechanically, and the gate quivered into motion. He dashed to his knees, rolled through the opening, and popped up just to the left of the animals.

Barry leapt to action, hit the stall button, and the gate jerked to a step, a quarter of the way open. Her breathing became shallow, her body thoroughly soaked with sweat, as Owen inched towards the beings slowly.

The four of them gave their full attention to him. Owen, bent slightly at the waist and knees, held his hands out to them. He was serenely calm and eerily collected. Something rattled in Marianne's brain and told her he'd done this before, had been eye level with these horse-sized carnivores. She swallowed thickly, her mouth and throat dry, watching. They turned from the boy, inching towards Owen again.

"Hold," Owen said sternly, unwilling to break eye contact, "I said hold it. Delta," he looked to his right, "I said stop." She hissed at him and took half a step back, he looking to his right where the other two had gained a few steps. "Don't even think about it, Echo. I see you."

"Oh God," Marianne breathed, "They…they listen to him."

Barry said nothing, only breathing deeply and uneasily.

The middle one, colored terrifically with a blue streak down the length of her body, nipped at him and shrieked briefly. " Don't give me that crap, Blue," he shook his head ever so slightly, "Enough."

The boy had now slowly made his way towards the fence, Barry swooping under and grabbing him, pulling him back. The raptors didn't like this, and screamed, hissing and pawing at the fence. Owen gradually stepped backwards, and he lowered one hand to wiggle his fingers in their direction, "Get out here, new girl," he said quietly.

Her heart pitched. "What?"

"Owen, are you insane?" Barry challenged.

"You said you wanted to interview, so let's interview." His voice was calm and collected and Marianne shared a nervous look with Barry. He said nothing, and she weighed her decisions right at that moment. It was either this, or go home and give up the job of a lifetime. She'd given up everything for this and she wasn't about to renege now. She swallowed, ducked low, and slowly came up on the other side of the gate.

The dangerous side.

"Slow," Owen said to her, again not breaking eye contact, "Get low and move _slowly._ They don't respond well to fast movements, it's a threat,' He wiggled his fingers and she came closer, not breaking eye contact with the animals. Her body began to tremble but she swallowed, took deep breathes, and closed her eyes momentarily.

 _God, please. Please don't let me tremble._

Her last step caused the raptor's to share a look with one another, lower their heads, and part their mouths at her, hissing and twitching and growling in their throats at her. Warning bells in her head caused Marianne's heart to swim, and she froze slightly behind Owen. He slowly moved his hand and fumbled it around her own, and she swallowed thickly again, then felt a tickle in her throat. She exhaled slowly, his hand in hers feeling as if it had been there forever.

"Slowly back,' he said, eyes shifting between the animals, which every time they moved back, they moved forward. "Move slow towards the fence, low, and easy." She nodded, eyes locked on the animal now directly in front of her, amber eyes locked wickedly with her own. She recognized that he'd called this one Charlie.

"Easy," Owen said louder, to the animals. Then, he rasied his arm and clenched his hand together in a fist. They abruptly stopped, Marianne freezing. She gripped his hand tightly, still hunched. He stood tall now, surprising the animals. They growled at him and clicked. "Hold it. _Hold._ " He shook his head slightly, "Fantastic. Frickin' fantastic."

They continued to move back. Marianne's body was alive with adrenaline, hot and sticky with sweat. Her dress might has well have been pasted to her body. Behind her, the tension from the witnesses was so great it was unbearable, and she shot a look skyward, where men poised with huge guns aimed steadily at the animals. She swallowed and managed to form words, "Don't shoot," she called up to them. The raptors all looked at her and stopped.

Owen glanced up, "If you shoot one of them they'll never trust me again. Hold your _fire._ " He put his free hand behind them, and they hit the back of the fence with a sudden jolt. They stopped, Marianne pinching her eyes closed. She opened them slowly as Owen lowered to his haunches. "On three, ready?"

"On three?" She hissed quietly, eyes locked on the animals.

"One," He counted, gripping her hand tighter.

"What do you mean on three-?"

"Two,"

Panic laced her veins, "What—wait!"

" _Now!"_

In a burst of speed, he turned, lowered her head, and practically thrust her under the fence. They rolled through the dirt, her head knocking against the ground, him rolling on top of her repeatedly. Claire screamed, the animals shrieked and the earth pounded beneath their feet as they lunged. Barry scrambled for the controls, pounded the button, and the alarm sounded. The gate mechanically whined and sank into the ground with a heavy thud.

The infuriated animals roared, claws gaping through the gate openings, clawing and thrashing in rage. They snorted and hissed and growled a few moments, before retreating from the gate. One lingered, Marianne's head throbbing, and she reached up to situate her glasses.

Owen, panting hard, was still on top of her, supporting his weight with one hand. He looked from the animals an to her, then smiled at her, laughing. With his other hand he reached up and brushed aside one of her curls. His calloused knuckles grazed lightly over her cheek, and relaxed her body.

"You ok?" He asked.

She nodded frantically. "Yeah. I'm ok." He nodded, pushed himself up, and Claire burst through the exterior gate, panting hard and frazzled. She pointed a finger at him, the raptor shrieked, and she screamed and took a step back.

"You're insane! Those things could've—"

Owen lowered her hand with his own and stepped by her, "But they didn't, Claire." He stopped and rubbed the back of his neck with a hand and looked at Marianne, who had brushed off the back of her dress. Marred with dirt and small cuts from the gravel, she panted and looked at him, expectantly. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Her mouth dropped open as she fumbled for words, "I, uh, well—sure."

He nodded once, "Six AM, bright and early." He scanned her from head to toe. "And, a word of advice," he winked, "Invest in some boots and some pants."

Claire glowered at him as if she read into something deeper than the statement. Marianne headed towards the exterior gate, looking away from him, spotting Vic staring at her as if she were some type of goddess and not a woman.

"Dang, girl," he shook his head and followed her away from the gate, "You're as crazy as he is."

She stopped, watched as he and Claire marched from the gate, Owen and Barry heading back up the steps towards the walkways. She took a moment to gather her senses, closed her eyes, and inhaled sharply.

She had _no_ idea what had just happened.


	8. Chapter Five

**Author's Note:** Alright, I've had a few questions regarding the last note in the previous chapter. Just so everyone's aware, this takes places over the course of one summer. We begin in the beginning of May, right after school. As stated, Zach, Gray, and Sophie will be staying the entire summer, until the point where school would have to send them home.

The Indominus: well, not to give out spoilers, but she's coming. Just not yet. Enjoy what I've got so far, and I hope you're loving it!

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

Owen stopped at the top of the steps leading to the walkways, Barry going ahead of him to their joint-office to begin filing an incident report to send into Claire, legal, and the corporate office at Masrani. Owen, forever dreaded the mere thought of paperwork, didn't stop the quiet-spirited man as he slipped into the office. A shriek and hiss came from the floor of the paddock, the girls obviously involved in one of the hundreds of nitpicking pack-fights they initiated between themselves. Shrugging it off, Owen turned his attention back to the new girl.

She stood where he'd left her a few moments, probably collecting herself and hashing over what in the world had happened. He really hadn't expected the interview to get _that_ serious, but he'd wanted it to be serious enough to where he could see the girl's true colors when it came to standing in the face of fear. Well, he'd been pleasantly surprised, as other girl's he'd "brought home" had other...worse instances upon meeting the team. He'd had a girl faint once, another scream and run away, and finally one who'd messed. He'd finally just given up talking about work, instead opting to talk about sports or bikes.

But this girl, Owen could immediately tell was different. He had a gift about discerning people, one he'd had since he was young boy. He'd never really been wrong before, and he wasn't now, from what he could ascertain about her. He watched her run her fingers midway through her messy, curly hair and let them sit there as she scanned the perimeter as if something were going to come out suddenly. Satisfied with just his technicians hauling boxes and devouring her with their eyes, she headed towards Claire's Benz and waited for her to finish her conversation with Vic. Owen gave a slight smirk from his place above, nodding to himself. Yeah, she was alright. She'd managed to stand in the face of fear and not fall back, not give in, and not panic. Something which was necessary for this job.

And, to his surprise, she'd trusted him without even knowing him. Owen wasn't even sure if _he'd_ trust himself being in her position, but she had nonetheless and had swung under the fence with a gait of confidence and uncertainty, but she didn't show it. Sure she'd been scared out of her wits, but she'd handled it decently and with poise, which he had to give her credit for. Owen could barely get people to rationally talk about the raptor's much less approach them. He might has well be ripping teeth.

He watched the girl, Marianne, lean against the Benz casually, stretching her arms above her head. From his position he could see she was exhausted from traveling and climate change-her hair was falling out in dry, frizzy bits, her eyes were bloodshot, and her dress was marred with dirt and sweat spots, which he didn't find necessarily repulsive. He studied her, not too intently, and found her halfway pleasurable. Not drop-dead stunning or repulsive, but midway.

An overly curvy hourglass silhouette is how he'd describe her-big on top, big on bottom. Broad shoulders maintained a bigger bosom, curving and turning like hourglass figures did along the stretch of her body, rounding out at the hips. Surprisingly, her thighs touched when she stood, and she had thick calves, not entirely muscular but not out of tone, and a bit of a belly. She had a round face, with light scarring on her cheeks, fair skin, and he'd recalled piercing blue eyes the color of the sky, which he assumed changed shades depending on the lighting, much likes his own. Light brown hair curled wildly, and from the strands fallen out of her bun, he guessed slightly below the shoulder. She wore glasses, no makeup, and no jewelry, save a ring on her right index finger, and a watch. Overall, she was no magazine model, but not undesirable. A bit plain for his taste.

He watched her until Claire got in the coupe and left, roaring down the road and kicking up a dust cloud. Once they'd vanished around the bend of foliage, he turned on his heel and headed to his office. He shouldered open the door only to be welcomed by his overly unkempt desk, his insides churning at the thought of searching through it ever. He turned his back on it, however, and marched into Barry's office, who was scribbling away on an incident report with a pen. His back was slick with sweat in this sweltering heat, and Owen shrugged off his vest, approached the desk, and tossed it over the back of the chair. Leaning down to rest his hands on top of Barry's desk, he hung his head and exhaled loudly.

"You could've killed her, you know," Barry broke the silence moments later, not looking up from his scrawling. "Claire was standing right there. So was Vic."

"I know," Owen said, a regretful tone in his voice. He turned to glance out the window, inhaled a deep breath, only to puff it out. "I know. But it went well."

Barry stopped writing, glancing up at Owen with his eyes, "I guess if you call almost killing the girl well. You have no idea how close Blue was on your heels. Any closer and you'd be standing here without an arm, my friend."

"It's a good thing I'm quick then, isn't it?" He winked at Barry, reached over the desk, and clapped him on the shoulder. "I think she'll do fine. Once she gets in the swing of things." He grabbed his vest and swung it over his shoulder, holding it by a finger. "She seems...capable."

"And beautiful," Barry added, glancing at him again and scribbling his signature quickly. He handed the report to Owen and set the pen down sharply on the desk. "She has a beautiful spirit in her. Strong."

Owen made a "yeah, sure" face and shrugged his shoulders, "Eh, she's okay. Not drop-dead gorgeous or anything." He walked over to the wall, grabbing a pen from Barry's desk as he passed, pressed the paper to the wall and signed his name quickly. "I'm not really into husky girls myself."

Barry raised his brows and crossed his arms as Owen handed him the paper, "Not a very fair assumption, my friend. You don't even know her."

Owen nodded and shrugged again, "I guess. She's not repulsive, but just not my type." He turned, headed for the door, and stopped at the heavy office door. Grabbing the knob, he lifted his chin to Barry and called into his office, "I've gotta go get Sophie. I promised I'd take her to supper in the resort somewhere. Can you handle the skin-check and feeding report without me?"

Barry laughed heartily at him, "I don't need you for everything, my friend! Go, have a good meal with your niece. Tell her I say hello."

Owen nodded, smiling, "Will do, Bare. Thanks." He closed the door, tromped down the steps, and headed for the Triumph he'd parked in the shade across the way. Shrugging back into his vest, he popped the keys forward and revved the bike, kicking it into first gear. Giving it gas, he lurched forward, the transmission whining for another gear, and he jetted forward.

He rustled the leaves of the jungle foliage as he left, the bike screaming loudly down the road and towards the heart of the resort.

. . .

Claire Dearing hadn't said a word to Marianne the entire drive. She'd just dropped her off, informed her to use her passes for dinner, and left her and her things outside the hut-looking bungalow. Marianne stared at the small thing for a long time, calculating how many miles it had been from the paddock. She guessed around two or three the way the crow flies, but she'd clock it in the morning.

She spent an hour just looking around the outside of the building, walking the perimeter. There was a patio out back, with a backdrop of jungle and tropical flowers grew along the outside of the building. A fire pit, lawn furniture, and a hammock were set up in the backyard as if she'd never left. Moving inside the building and taking her carry-on and purse inside, she found the small building to be anything _but_ small inside.

It had a sunken in living room just off the entry, which veered left into a hallway which she assumed led to the bedroom and bathroom. Just off the living room, one crossed through a set of French doors to get into the kitchen, which transitioned nicely into a dining area. It was airy, modern, and excellently decorated, with all new appliances and pre-furnished, dark suede furniture. Complete with a jungle, "dinosaur" theme, she ran her hand across the giant tooth sitting on the bookcase shelf just under the front window-she recalled it being a Rex tooth, and she wrinkled her brow, wondering if it was supposed to be offsetting or inviting.

Marianne took her bag into her room, sat on the bed, and stared at the window into the dense jungle. The exhaustion of the day had caught up with her, but too exhausted to possibly imagine sleep, she unpacked what little she had in the carry-on and went through the box Vivian had given her at the Innovation center. She ran her fingers along the lanyard attached to her ID card, stared at her photo ID, and then looked up at the desk on the adjoining wall. A flashy computer sat still, dark; awaiting use. Remembering Alan's warning to email her, she logged on and found her way into the system.

She typed him up a substantial email, letting him know she'd arrived safely, leaving out the details of her "interview", just explaining it had went well and she had the job for sure. Signing off, she sat in the chair comfortably for what seemed like hours, studying the taste-fully decorated room and soaking in the quiet. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and sat...

...jarring awake, Marianne realized she had dozed off. The rumbling of her stomach prompted her to check her watch. Two hours had gone by, and evening was setting just outside the window. Getting up, Marianne grabbed her purse and her badge, as well as a dinner pass, and left the room. Stopping in the living room before making the door, she wondered how on earth she was supposed to get into the resort on foot.

She was about to search for a phone, betting her cell was dead, when a flash of blue grabbed her attention from outside the window. Hurrying for the door, she whipped it open to find her Camaro parked just outside, sitting serenely against the jungle backdrop. Puzzled, she looked around for anyone, but instead found a note taped to the front door. It was a computer generated script, which told her the car had been inspected and was ready for use, listing her documentation information and registration number.

Marianne spent the better half of the hour unloading what little the Camaro could hold and dropping it into her living room. Satisfied, she grabbed her purse and keys and hurried out of the bungalow, towards the muscle car, and slipped into the driver's seat. She started the car with a flick of the keys, it roaring to life and relief settling in her nerves-this was the only thing that had went smoothly today.

Puffing out a breathe, she hit the gas and took off towards the resort, stomach rumbling the entire way.

. . .

"Dr. Wu. So. What have you got for me?" Claire said later that evening after she'd returned from Marianne's interview. Having been utterly exhausted and distressed, she'd taken an hour to recover in her office, sipping more espresso and typing up emails to sponsors and running guest analysis. She'd checked some security feeds and looked into a few maintenance calls, only to be called into Dr. Wu's office to discuss the new asset.

Now, sitting across from the aging scientist, she tried her best to forget the entire raptor incident. Though she hadn't given him it verbally, she gave Owen a good hashing in her mind, cursing the man for his stupidity and his brazenness. He'd deliberately put an inexperienced employee in harm's way, not even stopping to weigh the consequences with InGen's representative, Vic Hoskins, standing right there! Oh how she despised his breezy attitude towards life, his boyish charm, and his _pathetic_ sarcasm. He grated on her nerves and made her skin broil with irritability.

And that woman. Claire couldn't even find words for the indignant rage she felt towards her.

She hadn't noticed Henry stop speaking, much less the look on his face until he'd leaned forward and said her name. "...Claire. You alright?"

Jerking back into reality, she nodded. "Yes, I'm fine. So. You, uh, said you had to add a bit of cuddlefish to the genome to help curb it's..."

"Growth rate," Henry interjected, "She's growing much faster than expected," he reiterated, hitting a few keys on his computer. The screen behind him lit up with scientific reports and diagnostics, but overall with a picture of the creature to an animatronic scale. "Production on the exhibit is slow going, so we had to slow her down somehow."

"So, when will she _stop_ growing?"

"Hard to say," Henry shrugged, "But she will stop. As a juvenile, she's bound to grow at a faster pace right now than in six months from now. Her hormones and her genes are working overtime to get her body to a stage where it would be able to breed and/or establish its role in nature without bringing harm to itself. It's going through a lot of changes."

"But you can control her growth rate?"

He gave her an "iffy" look before replying, "To some extent. We added cuddlefish into her genome before she was in the embryo stages to ensure she wouldn't grow too quickly. It's proving effective, but she's still ascertaining a fast growth rate more than we anticipated."

"But, we can fix it with the sibling, right?" She really had no idea what all of his technobabble meant, but she kept interested for propriety's sake. She'd have to tell this all to Masrani again anyway, so she might as well not look like an idiot doing it. "I mean, it can be controlled by adding more of the gene?"

Henry, sensing her lack of understanding of the subject, sighed and blinked a few times, "We really won't know until it happens. It's hard to know these things your first time around the track. Growth rate, food consumption, behavioral issues, social skills-all these are difficult to manage without first observing the animal in her habitat. It's something we really can't control, Claire."

Control. She was so sick of hearing about it she could vomit.

Quite finished with the subject, she decided to gracefully bow out. "Well, if everything's going well, then I'll look for your quarterly report in my inbox sometime this month, Dr. Wu. Thanks for the update." She got up, Henry doing the same, and he escorted her to the door. "Just let me know about any hiccups."

He chuckled, "I will do my best to make sure there aren't any,"

She smiled. "Wonderful. Have a good evening, Dr. Wu."

He nodded to her, "And you as well, Claire."

She smiled tightly at him, nodded, and headed from the lab to dinner with her nephews.

. . .

The crack of a que ball sent a jolt down Marianne's spine later that night, after the resort had died down around eight that night. Marianne had opted for Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville for dinner, deciding that she deserved a drink after the events of her day.

She'd settled in quite nicely in her back booth among the men and women out for a good time. Their cheers and chatter and rambunctiousness helped ease her mind off her exhaustion, her drowing it in a pattern of water, then alcohol, then water again. Someone kept playing old Johnny Cash songs on the jukebox, a tacky memoir sitting among the world's finest technology in one place. A cute, flirty couple were playing a game of pool, but as Marianne watched them from her place, it was more of a game of groping than anything else.

She ordered another Brandy Seven.

Popping a peanut into her mouth, she watched the couple lock into a deep, passionate kiss as if they were alone and not in the middle of Margaritaville. Then, someone slammed their fist on the counter and pointed to the TV, jarring Marianne into reality. She blinked, rubbed her sore eyes, and smiled at the waiter as he left her Seven on the table, among the other glasses she'd downed. By no means was she drunk, but her belly was warm with Brandy, and it felt good.

Then, the bell above the door jingled lightly, and she looked to the door before taking a drink. She froze, her stomach sloshing to her knees, noticing the familiar frame from earlier that afternoon. Owen Grady hadn't changed from their meeting, instead walking into the place as if he owned it. She sighed, and attempted sink into the booth away from him. But, he scanned the place, and his eyes landed on her. To Marianne's dismay, he sauntered over.

The song changed as he stopped at her table. She looked into her drink and then up at him, squinting an eye closed against the light. He stared down at her, then quirked a brow. She smiled flatly at him, rested her arms on the table, and glanced at the couple still making out.

"Drinking alone on your first day?" He asked, his voice like bourbon; strong, smooth, and satisfying. "I wouldn't exactly call that a good Jurassic World first day." He kicked out a chair, flipped it around, and lowered himself into it. Draping his arms across the back, he leaned forward.

"Yeah, well, considering I almost got eaten today by a an Velociraptor, I think it qualifies." She gave him a half smile, grabbed her glass, and sloshed it around the glass. The dark liquid swirled when she stopped, the glass cool and sweating in the heat of the night. "It always this dangerous?"

He shrugged, then smiled, "Depends on the day." He wrinkled his brow at her drink, then gestured for it by wiggling his fingers. She released the glass and he picked it up, drawing it to his nose and inhaling a sniff. He made an impressed face, "Brandy Seven. Nice."

"My dad was a Brandy guy," _Not that you care._ "It's a family requirement."

He gave her a half smile, then nodded as if he understood. "Yeah. My dad was a tequila guy."

She nodded, lips flat. She scanned his thick arms, then his tousled, messy brown hair and his well kept mustache and found heat rising up her neck and threatening her face. She looked down, then to the couple at the pool table, finding the girl had sunk three more solids into the far corner. There was silence between them as someone struck up an old Shania Twain song, the tune rattling throughout the air. Owen stared at her and she caught him, drawing his eyes to his feet.

"So." He sounded serious, as if about to talk business. "Where'd you go to school?"

She cleared her throat, "The University of Minnesota," she took a drink. His brows quirked at this and she nodded, raising her own, "Yep. Majored in Communication."

"Really." He sounded shocked.

"Yeah. Surprisingly, I landed an internship at a museum keeping books and organizing lab reports. I spent a semester learning how to categorize fossils and other archeological findings from some of the top minds in the industry." she shrugged, "Once I graduated, I had letters of recommendation and a phone number, which led me to Alan Grant, who hired me on as an intern and spent six months in preliminary trainings for field excavations," she chuckled and gave him a look, "Guess what learned there."

Owen nodded, eyes flecking with life and intrigue, "I can only imagine,"

She smacked her lips together and took another drink, "So from there I went into the field and worked closely with Dr. Grant. He was a friend of my Dad's from the army," her eyes dropped to the table, where she grabbed a stir stick and busied herself with it. "So I've been around."

Owen nodded, then looked over his shoulder and signaled the bartender, "Whattdya do to stay healthy?"

She quirked a brow at him as he turned back to face her. Truth be told, she hated exercising, but she had all through college and had kept her membership current by going three times a week. She'd also spent time swimming and in a backyard softball league. She hated that he asked, because she knew what that meant. She nodded slowly, "I swim, treadmill, lift weights. Basic stuff."

"Good." Was all he said. He sounded unimpressed.

The bartender dropped off a Coors bottle and he took a long drink, the bottle dripping with sweat. Marianne took a drink from hers well, the silence all but killing her. Her heart had slowed down now, wasn't hammering so hard, and she no longer felt ridiculous in this man's presence after his question. He was obviously looking for a super model type. Not that she cared. He started small talk about her research and projects in Snakewater, in which Marianne filled him in on the basics and the most interesting parts. She didn't bring up Grant's experiences with Jurassic Park, and he didn't ask.

They spent the better part of the evening drinking and making awkward conversation. At quarter to eleven they called it quits and got up from the bar, Owen dropping a twenty for the house. He led the way out the front door, her following through the thinned group of people still left at the establishment, until they stepped into the muggy tropical air. Owen made his way down the steps, her staying put, and he headed for the Triumph motorcylce parked next to a string of bikes.

"I'll see you tomorrow at six," he said, slipping onto the bike.

Marianne curbed the attraction she felt towards him being on the bike, shoving it down and remembering he wasn't looking for a woman of her...shape. She nodded curtly and stepped down the stairs, fishing for her keys in her purse where her Camaro was parked out back. "Sure. Six then."

He revved the bike and gave her a half smile, as if sensing her attraction, "Yep. Six." She smiled softly, waved at him, and then turned on her heel to walk away. He called after her, surprising, "I think you're gunna do fine," she stopped and turned to face him, "I mean, you handled yourself real good today."

She shrugged, "You really didn't give me much of a choice."

He quickly smoothed his mustache with his fingers, looked down at the dash of the bike, and then situated himself, the bike rumbling in the night deeply, "It's best to associate the girls with new people by coming into the situation, not just being there. It's a power play. Shows them who's in charge. Now, they associate you with me."

"Which is good,"

He chuckled, "For now, yeah. By no means are you best friends yet. It's taken me four years to get them to hold."

She swallowed at that, her mouth running dry. Four years? It didn't surprise her, they were first generation, and according to Alan's research, raptor's were excessively aggressive and territorial. It didn't surprise her that they were hard to imprint. "Interesting."

"Every day is a challenge," he chuckled, "But that's part of the fun." Shrugging, he shifted the bike into neutral and began backing it out slowly with his feet. He nodded to her, gave a flighty wave, and then gripped the handle bars and kicked the bike into first. He raised his chin to her. "See ya tomorrow."

"Tomorrow. Six."

He grinned, "Yep. Six."

Owen then roared out of the resort, towards the maintenance road, and was gone. Marianne headed back to her Camaro, started it, and returned to her bungalow, where she managed to make it into bed and set an alarm for six.


	9. Chapter Six

**Author's Note:** So, I'm here to answer some questions...

 _Do you by chance have a person in mind when you picture her?_ Marianne is an OC purely created out of my own conscience, pieced together and designed by yours truly. But, if there would be a woman to compare her with, it would be Lexi Placourakis, a plus size model. Just keep in mind Marianne isn't a model, and she has imperfections in her hair and skin, and she wears glasses. I created a board on Pinterest entitled " _Fanfiction"_ , so you can follow the link on my profile page for visual aids.

 _Will she have opportunities to bond with the raptors?_ Yes. Considering that Marianne will be working very close to Owen, it is inevitable that she gets to know the girls over time. Actually, she'll get to them in quite a few different ways-scary, dangerous ways-but ways nonetheless. But no spoilers here.

 _Sophie, Zach, and Gray:_ These are what are known as minor characters, or in the movie world, B-story characters. What that basically means is while they are not our heroes and heroines, they are the second half of the equation, the other side of the coin. The story will follow them somewhat, but not as extensively as Marianne and Owen. They will make appearances.

 _Is this set a year before the fiasco, or during?_ This story takes place over the summer of the attack. We're starting in early May after school ends, and running through August before school would begin. The Indominus comes in right around the middle somewhere, depending on the pace and how long I decide to beat around the bush.

Any more questions, please let me know! Thanks!

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

It was well after six thirty when Marianne stumbled through the door of Owen's office the next morning.

She'd pummeled open the door as if her life had depended on it, Owen reclined in his desk chair with the latest copy of _Rider_ magazine, intent on reading about engine carburetor installation. Barry was in his office bumming time on his computer. When she staggered through the door, he jerked a look at her, to find she'd taken his advice and put on pants and boots, as well as a button down shirt that tied at the waist. Her curls hung in dripping strands around her face, a sunburn grazing her nose gently.

Tossing the magazine and letting his boots drop to the floor, he got up and gave her a smirk. "Good morning."

She nodded to him, "Morning," she managed. Her eyes were bloodshot and she looked exhausted-like tourists did their first night, with the time change and climate differences. She looked utterly wiped, and he decided he'd spare her the tardiness lecture, as he himself hadn't stumbled through the door until ten after, Sophie being the reason he'd been late. He hadn't expected an eight year old to be so difficult to get out of bed. At least not yet.

"Get home ok?" He slipped past her, waving her to follow him out the door and down the steps. It was quiet this morning, the heat stronger than usual, the girls unmoving in the paddock. Usually at six they were quiet as they awaited a morning skin check. Moving down the stairs, Owen led her from the paddock across the way to the supply building, which was doorless and more of a lean-to than a building. Strangely enough their time clock was out here, but he didn't question the engineering. She followed him willingly, minding her step around a bush, and smelling of...gardenias?

"Yeah, it was a good drive. Didn't get too lost," she said lightly, "Yourself?" He stopped at the time clock, which was just around the corner inside. He and turned around, only to find she'd put her hair up into a bun and left curls to fall around her face. He shrugged a shoulder, draped an arm over the box on the wall, and crossed his legs at the ankles. He pondered her statement.

"A good _drive_?" He stressed. "You have a car already?"

She shrugged a shoulder, then reached into a pocket to retrieve the lanyard hanging at her side. Pulling it out, she twisted it around her fisted hand awkwardly, "Yeah. I have my own vehicle on the island."

He quirked a brow, "Really."

"Uh-huh. It was a stipulation I made sure was not ignored." She looked to the touch-screen he was leaning on and nodded to it, then gestured with the ID, "Am I using this or what?"

Owen, straightening, nodded and touched the screen with a calloused thumb. He brought up the login screen and stepped back from it, gesturing her forward. "Just slide it across the scanner on top and you'll be set to go." Once completed, the screen flashed green and then he set up the fingerprint scanner, explaining, "Then just press your thumb in that box and you'll be set to go for fingerprints."

"Fingerprints?" She asked, giving him a side-look as she pressed her thumb into the allotted box. He nodded once, and once she finished, turned and began heading towards the door.

"Yeah. Most of the doors and gate accesses have fingerprint back-ups," he stretched his neck from side to side, "Y'know, in case something happens or the badges don't work,"

She snorted, "Or if one of them gets out,"

He stopped, swung around, and gave her a slick smile, "Yeah, well, that hasn't happened yet."

"Yet?" She stopped abruptly and then he pointed both his index fingers at stacks of crates along the walls. She turned to look at them, then stepped back to stand beside him, her eyes scanning. Changing the subject, he explained.

"We keep all the supplies here. Meds, transfer gear, first aides, all that jazz," he turned to the right, then made his way to the freezer door in the corner. Motioning her to follow, she came quickly, and he popped open the latch. Instantly a cold blast of air bombarded them, and he stepped inside.

The huge room was frosted over with ice and hard snow, really the only part of the building which was really structural. The metal shelves organized into daily food allowances and dieting. Each were color coded and labeled per animal, as each of the girls had a different diet depending on weight, health, and age. He outstretched his arms as if showcasing a new car.

"This is where we keep the goodies," he chuckled, "Each of the girls have their own diet, and we keep their food separated according to weight and whatever, following a weekly schedule. Most of the time we inject their medications and vitamins and whatever into the carcasses-makes it easier, and they don't taste it." Marianne nodded, scanning the room. He headed forward, walking the length of the room until he arrived doubled back and headed towards the door.

She nodded her understanding, and Owen led her from the freezer and back into the supply room. After leaving, he left the lean-to and approached another bigger, full-sized building with large garage stalls. Both open with Briggs and Silas checking off a daily inspection list, he gestured to the two vehicles-one Mercedes-Benz G-class SUV, the other a traditional two door, topless Jeep Wrangler. Owen, nodding to the guys who had stopped working to gape at Marianne, continued his tour, "We keep the two main cars here, but there's a Vet unit that we have on the other side of the Paddock. These we just use to get around and do drills."

"Drills?" She asked, following him back towards the paddock. He nodded and slowed his gait for her to keep up. He noticed she did well in keeping pace with her, and they headed towards the stairs, her question still lingering.

"Yeah, every once in awhile we do some scent drills to get the girls out in the open and test their instincts, see how they're doing in their communication and social skills, and let them establish themselves outside their paddock. Makes for good interaction and therapy I guess," he shrugged and led her back towards the office, "It stretches they're legs I guess you can say."

Her brows rose a few inches, but she said nothing, only stopping back inside the office. "Well ok then. I assume those... _drills_ are pretty safe?"

He snorted, "That's a relative term, sweetheart. Nothing with the girls is safe," he stopped, put his hands on his hips and stared at the heaping desk, "But we do our best to make sure no one looses a limb." He gave her a half smile as if it were to be funny. She just stared at him and then his desk.

"This is where you'll start," he reached for a file, "Once this stuff has been organized and filed away there," he sharply pointed to an empty, black file cabinet, "We'll have you start on field work. This'll take about a week-"

She gave him a surprised look, "A _week?"_ Stepping towards it, she grabbed a paper stack off the desk and began scanning through them, "These are basic progress reports and analysis charts. And these," she wrinkled her brows at a stack of folders with a green sticky note with _Daily Logs_ written in his handwriting pasted on top. She flipped the top file open, "Are...food journals? For each of the animals?" She nodded, "All they really need are categorized according to date, and I'm assuming animal." She gave him a look, "Not difficult, Mr. Grad-"

"Owen," he stopped her short, his tone disbelieving, "Why does everyone insist on calling me Mr. Grady? My name's Owen, and that's what you'll call me." He pointed at her and then seated himself in his chair. She smiled at him and set the file she had at hand in the windowsill, out of the way.

"Well then. You can call me Marianne." She grabbed a pen, then found the sticky note stack and ripped one off. Scribbling something, she stuck it to the files in the windowsill and put the pen behind her ear. "Anyway, I can have this done in a day or two. I hope you weren't expecting it to take me a week, and if you did, I'm afraid you're wasting your money." She began flipping through another folder, "There's four drawers on that file cabinet. Each animal will have their own drawer, and corresponding files within each. Not too tough to manage I don't think."

He stared at her, brows quirked. That was fast.

"Yeah, that's the plan-"

"And I'm assuming you want electronic copies of all this?" She looked at him from over the top of her glasses.

He nodded slowly, giving her a sideways looks, "If you think you do it, yeah."

"If none of this has been entered, that may take awhile, but I can do a bit every day and get it done in a few days, probably. Then we can talk about field work and whatever else you need me for." She wrote out another sticky note and then stopped to sigh, giving him a look, "Since, I'm assuming you don't have a specific job description for me."

He sat back in his chair, flabbergasted. She'd just organized his life in three minutes.

"Uh...not exactly."

She nodded, gave him the "I thought so" look, and shrugged, "I figured as much. So, if you'll give me about an hour to get this stuff sorted out, I'll get things moving. I'll call you if I need anything."

"You don't want to go over any of this stuff, what it means, any of it?" He couldn't believe she was ready to delve into this so quickly, but he guessed she was used of it, working at a paleontological site most of her career, where he assumed things were equally or worse off.

She shook her head. "I'll find you if I need you."

"Ok," he raised his hands in surrender, Barry suddenly appearing in the doorway, a smirk on his face. He leaned against the doorjamb, watching Marianne from behind. He winked at Owen, shook his head, and walked out the door. "If you want me gone, I'll go. Holler if you need anything."

She smiled at him softly, "I sure will." She scrunched up her face and grabbed another stack of papers, "But I doubt I will."

With that, she rounded to the other side of the desk, began riffling through papers, and he walked out the door.

. . .

"Come _on,_ man! It's the feeding! The T-Rex is _actually feeding_!"

Zach Mitchell gave his younger brother a blank stare, looking up from his phone only momentarily to watch the boy bounce over the Tyrannosaur Kingdom gate. He had so much excitement whizzing through his body it was enough to kill the previously mentioned lizard, as well as keep Zach up most of the night while he read through the park's map and information brochure.

Stuffing the phone into his pocket, Zach slipped by a boy and girl leaving the Kingdom and watched Grey burst through the entrance as if God himself had stepped out of heaven just inside. Puffing out a sigh, he slipped his hands into his pockets and followed Gray deeper into the attraction, mazing around people and weaving in and out of crowds. His blue Jurassic World band rubbed his skin, but he didn't really care.

What really rubbed him the wrong way was his Aunt Claire leaving them alone for the day. After she'd come to get them at the docks yesterday afternoon, she'd left them until dinner, insisting she had an important investor's meeting to check on and calls to make. So, they'd spent the better half of the afternoon looking around the Innovation Center, Gray geeking out about every scientific thing known to man. It had caused him some embarrassment, but that wasn't unusual for Zach when he was around Gray. The kid could embarrass a mud fence if he was given the opportunity.

Gray led him towards the observation deck, which actually was constructed into the paddock, cleverly designed to look like a huge, fallen tree with a one-way glass. The tube where visitor's where allowed to witness the feeding of the giant animal was packed with eager and bright young eyes all waiting for their turn to glimpse the king of the lizards, the mighty Rex. Zach stood from the back, a head taller than most of the little kids, as Gray pushed his way to the front.

The ground shook beneath his feet, rhythmically.

His heart pitched into his throat.

Coming from the east, the mighty animal came into view among the fronds and branches of the trees. Giant compared to any living thing Zach had ever seen, it's keen eyes were smart, scanning the log as if it could sense their presence. Zach swallowed, bristling where he stood, as if his feet had sunk into the floor. The animal watched them for a few moments, lowering its head and scanning its side of the glass. Even though Zach knew the Rex couldn't see them, his heart still hammered, sweat forming on his palms and between his shoulders.

Close. Much to close.

Satisfied she was alone, the Rex dipped her head and devoured the goat which had been awaiting its doom. The children "oohed" and "awwed", cheering and pointing and snapping pictures. Zach just stood, in awe, as the Rex swallowed the goat whole, stopping to stare at the glass again, pondering. Wondering. Thinking.

Blood dripped from its teeth, tauntingly.

Then, she turned from them and lumbered slowly back into the foliage.

Gray burst from the mob of kids, all watching and whispering and chatting, his body trembling with excitement. His eyes wide with wonder, he stared up at Zach as if he'd just witnessed the most amazing thing ever. Zach stared down at him, released his breathe, and reached into his pocket with a shaky, unsteady hand. Gray shook his head excitedly and hurried past Zach, farther down the tube, as if to keep up with the animal. "Come on," he called to Zach, "We can see it's nest!"

Zach, much to his dismay, followed.


	10. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

Sophie had stood on the steps to the Innovation center that morning, looked in her Uncle Owen's eyes longingly, hoping and praying he'd stay and instead of go off to work that morning. Instead, her heart was crushed when he'd kissed her on the head, told her to stay out of trouble, and winked at her before zooming away on his motorcycle. Her heart had dropped down into her sneakers when he'd left.

Now, she sat on the very same steps, watching as the pretty blonde woman paced back and forth talking on her cell phone. Sophie, chin in hand, stared blankly at the thin woman, who twirled a lock of hair around her index finger and blabbered on about her job. The woman, Sophie knew her as Magnolia, scuffed her booted feet as she paced, Sophie glancing at her own sneakers-complete with rainbow laces-and tapped them on the stone steps to no apparent tune. A breeze, filled with the smell of jungle and animals, flittered the ends of her French braids, taking the perspiration from her temples away.

It was almost noon, and Uncle Owen had _promised_ he'd be around for lunch. She hadn't seen very much of him so far, him only coming to pick her up from the boat, escort her to the resort, eat supper, and then leave. He'd come to wake her up and then drop her here with Magnolia before going on to work. She glanced up at the clear blue sky, where a bird floated overhead, and squinted against the sun. It was hot, but not unbearable, but she had no desire to go swimming. Not with Magnolia anyway. Really she didn't even like this woman, who had spent the majority of their time together on the phone. Uncle Owen had suggested she was a tour guide, but Sophie gathered she was more of a cell technology-worker, because she spent more time consulting her phone than she did guiding.

The park was buzzing with activity as people moved in and out of buildings and made their way to and from attractions-having _fun,_ like Sophie was supposed to be doing. She watched as a family-Mom, Dad, and a little girl, consulted a map and pointed in the direction of the Tyrannosaurs Kingdom. The girl began jumping up and down, then slipped her hand into her father's, who draped his arm around his wife's shoulder. Sophie, green with envy, watched as they disappeared into the attraction like a fairy tale.

She missed her Dad. He and her Mom had split up before school had started last year, and she hadn't seen much of him since. He'd dropped by to visit and check in, but his "new girlfriend" didn't really seem interested in Sophie, so they never went anywhere. He sometimes sent letters, but not very often. It had been her, her Mom, and Zoe for awhile, and of course Uncle Owen when he was in the States.

Sophie puffed out a breathe and tried to block out the sounds of other people having fun, wishing she was having as much of a good time as they were. She was thirsty and hungry, and was dying to do something fun, when Magnolia ended her phone call and trudged up the steps towards her, looking more like she was heading to prison much less to spend the day with a little girl. Sophie's stomach flopped over with disappointment, a teenage boy and girl walking past her and giving her a look of confusion has they headed away from the Innovation center.

"Sophie," Magnolia stopped before her, looking down at the little girl. Sophie looked up to her and squinted, "Why don't we get something to eat before heading to the Gyropsheres?" Sophie looked away from her and shook her head, one of the ends of her braids brushing against her chin.

"No, I want to wait for Uncle Owen,"

Magnolia groaned and shielded her eyes from the sun, "Sophie, it's been-" she watched the clock on her sleek, fancy phone, "-almost thirty minutes."

"He's coming. I want to wait."

Magnolia, rolling her eyes behind her sunglasses, plopped down next to her. "Alright then. You win." Then, she took out her phone, and Sophie caught her playing a lively game of Angrybirds, and she was on level 71. Reaching up to fiddle with one of the ends of her braids, she looked out into the massive, swelling crowds of people, watching for her Uncle. Her heart hammered in her chest for any sign of him, hope egging her on.

It was another ten minutes before she heard the familiar rumble of a motorcyle, Sophie watching the crowds next to the road gated off and with a sign reading _"Employees Only-Maintenance Road"_ part slowly. She shot to her feet when she saw Uncle Owen breeze in on his bike, squinting in the sun. He stopped abruptly, revved the engine, and scanned the crowds before his gaze landed on the Innovation Center building. Sophie, grinning and excitement swelling in her belly, waved at him and jumped up and down. He waved his hand at her, nodded, and walked the motorcycle through the crowds towards the steps.

Sophie, completely ignoring Magnolia's protests, hurried down the steps and darted in-between guests, until she reached the last step as her Uncle came slipping up to it on his bike. He braked, moved the kickstand down with his foot, and swung his leg over, only to dip to a knee and receive her in a hug. Sophie moved into his embrace immediately, and squeezed him tightly. He smelled of exhaust, jungle, and sweat, but she didn't care. He took her shoulders and parted them, grinning lopsidedly and winking at her before poking her in the belly playfully.

"Hey little bug," he grinned at her, calling her by the nickname he'd given her since she was a baby, "How's it going, hm? Ready for something to eat?"

She nodded quickly, "Yeah! I'm starved!" As if on cue, her stomach rumbled and he looked down to it and then up to her, raising a brow and giving her a confused, suspicious look.

"You sure you're my niece? I don't remember her having such a loud stomach," he looked up to the sky, "and I certainly don't remember her having such an appetite." He crossed his arms. "You look like her, though."

She giggled. "It's me, I promise. Sophia Anastasia Forester." She patted her chest and raised her chin in pride. "Your very own niece, thank you very much." Her stomach rumbled again, and they both burst out laughing, him standing to his full height and extending a hand for her to take.

She wrapped her hand in his and they began climbing the stairs. "Aha! I knew you were my niece, I knew it all along." He winked at her again and stopped when they reached Magnolia. She shielded her eyes, looked up at him, and smiled weakly.

"I'm taking her to lunch and I'll have her the rest of the day,"

The woman gave him a scared, concerned look, why Sophie had no idea. "Are you sure-?"

He put up a hand, "Yeah. It's an office day so we'll be good." He looked down to her and raised his brows, expectantly, "Huh, little bug? You can help me with some of my stuff in the office, right?" He shrugged a shoulder, "You can meet my assistant and my friends and stuff. Sound good?"

Not even caring that it meant not riding rides of looking at dinosaurs, she nodded rapidly, smiling at him. He nodded, said goodbye to Magnolia after setting up a time tomorrow to drop her off, and they headed down the stairs to his motorcycle. Swinging his leg over, he lifted her onto the front of the bike and turned the key forward, but not all the way, and kicked the stand up. Dropping it into neutral, he nuzzled his chin into the side of her neck, his stubble and mustache tickling her soft skin. She giggled, crunched up in a ball, and he chuckled. "What do you want to eat, Soph?"

"Burgers and fries!" She blurted, not even thinking twice.

He laughed, "My kinda girl," he began walking the bike towards the shops lining the heart of the resort, dodging people and moving the handle bars to steer around, Sophie's body racked with excitement and joy. Her toes were wriggling in excitement and she felt almost as if she were going to tremble she was so excited. Blinking the sweat off her eyelashes, he finished, "I know just the place with fries, burgers, _and_ milkshakes. I'm in the mood for chocolate, how about you?"

She wrinkled her nose, "No way! Strawberry is my favorite."

He snorted, "Not a chance. You? Strawberry? And here I thought you were a choca-holic." He winked at her again and turned the bike to the right, towards a hut-looking building which she assumed was the restaurant, because it had a delicious smell coming from it. She inhaled it and her mouth began to water.

"Nu-uh. Strawberry is me and Mom's favorite."

He nodded. "Well, that explains it. Your Mom always _was_ kinda weird."

She giggled and he parked the bike behind the building. Swinging off, he helped her scramble to the ground and took her hand, heading towards the front of the building, keys twirling on his finger. He reminded her of a comic book character or a movie star, the kind her Mom always thought were "handsome" on TV. He opened the door, held it for it, and ushered her inside. Bowing low at the waist, he grinned at her, "After you, little bug." The AC blasted away the heat and she beamed at him being deliberately silly. Mom called him a big kid, and she was beginning to see why.

It was going to be a good day.

. . .

It had been noon when Owen had sauntered into the office, demanding the attention of the air inside, as well as Marianne's.

She, despite the AC, was sweating slightly as she fumbled through files and scribbled notes on a legal pad with the same pen she hadn't let out of her hand morning. Now, with one less button buttoned on her shirt and her glasses propped on her head, Marianne was neck deep in notes and reminders, as well as what were now stacks of organized papers and files. The cabinet behind her was open and filled with what was a start of Blue's paperwork, who appeared, according to her notes, to be the beta of the Raptor's. It had taken her awhile to establish the animals as Blue, Delta, Charlie and Echo, but she'd figured it out after peering through their lab reports and their personal histories.

Raptors. If Alan could see her now, he'd kill her-then revive her, only to probably kill her again. Marianne had no idea she'd be working with these animals, much less the very one's who'd almost killed her mentor and her father's best friend so many years before. He'd warned her about them, telling her stories after stories about the intelligence in their eyes and their uncanny ability to process new information. Raptor's had been the focus of Alan's research before Jurassic Park, but had absorbed his life and his career afterwards. The research and discoveries he had been able to ascertain after the events of Hammond's failed project had changed the world of paleontology as doctor's had known it, much less his very own life. Marianne hadn't been able to escape it. It was inevitable around Alan.

And, it was apparent it was inevitable now.

The man in the vest and button down (she was beginning to wonder if he had anything else in his wardrobe) gave her a look and sauntered over, Marianne immediately noticing a clipboard under his arm, stained with dirt. He scanned the stacks of files and the neat stack of loose, unmatched paperwork sitting directly in front of her. Marianne had stopped sketching a small sketch of Delta's head and drawing a diagram of her olfactory pathway to look up at him. Her fingers black with ink, she blinked at him and set the pen down.

"Hi." Was all she said. Whatever aura he was giving off; half macho and half friendly, she wasn't exactly sure what it was doing to her stomach. But, she would have to get over it, as he was her boss and would demand a lot of her attention. She found herself willing to give it to him, but cautious in the endeavor as well.

"Hi." He put a finger on the tallest stack of files, then wrinkled his brow in confusion. She noted the perspiration on his forehead, soaking his hair, and gathered decently under his arms. It must've been hotter outside than she anticipated. "Looks like you've...managed."

She shrugged. "It was a lot simpler than I imaged. You've basically got three main categories of files here." She stood and put her hand on top of the first stack to the left of her, "Training," she locked eyes with him a moment as if engraving it into his mind, then reached for the middle stack which was smaller but had thicker files, "Health", and then she motioned with her head towards the biggest stack, "and finally behaviors. You've got some nice stuff here-a lot of information. All you needed to do was keep it organized."

He shrugged. "They like me to keep close tabs," Owen then moved toward the file cabinet and began fingering through Blue's drawer, "This is Blue?"

Marianne nodded, heading over, "The start. There's some stuff in the windowsill I still have to go through for the girls' individual files. This is most of the stuff you have logged and what the lab has on Blue, from what I can understand," she reached for the laboratory listing and pulled out one of the forms. Flattening her lips, she gave a firm nod, "like this for instance is her pheromone count as of last spring. It's doubled from what her blood count read the year before."

Owen shot her a look and nodded, brows raising, giving her an impressed look. "Great." He scratched his head, "You blew through that like it was nothing. It looked like the apocalypse when I left." He chuckled at his own exaggeration.

"It wasn't bad. None of the files were sprawled around, you kept all the papers inside nicely. It's just you failed to categorize them and keep them sorted," she shrugged, grabbed the legal pad, and pressed it to her chest, feeling hot and exhausted. She hadn't even began to enter stuff into the computer yet. The job nagged at her like a fly buzzing around her head, but she ignored it mostly, "I've seen worst, honestly."

"I doubt that," he puffed out a breathe, "I never really was organized."

She smiled at him, chuckling, "Well, you unorganize any of this and I'll kill you myself." He shot her a surprised look before she smiled, "Just kidding."

"Wow. Threatening the boss on your first day of work? You're fearless."

She put the pen behind her ear and tossed the pad onto the desk, a shining stainless steel masterpiece of handiwork he could no appreciate, "Not fearless. Just confident." She rubbed the back of her neck, feeling beads of sweat pooling in her curls and in her palm. Was she ever going to get used of this heat? "What's that?" She gestured to his clipboard.

He set it on the desk, waved it off, and headed towards the door. "It can wait until after lunch."

She nodded and rounded the desk, "I didn't bring anything, I figured I'd head into the resort-"

He laughed, "Not _your_ lunch. The girls' lunch."

She stopped short. "Oh."

"We don't break until one." He jerked his head out the door, one hand on the knob, gesturing her forward. She obeyed, slipping past him in the doorframe, and waited for him to close the door and lead the way down the stairs. "But, I think it's a good time to introduce you to the girls formally before lunch." He grinned at her and winked, "They usually behave decently before they chow down. As if I'd starve them if they didn't."

She wasn't sure if he was joking or not.

Owen led her all the way down the steps until they were on the ground, in the dirt. Her Camaro was still somewhat in the shade, the paint hopefully not frying in whatever sun it was going to get during the day hours. From the stairs, he took her to the main gates, buzzed them in, and led her towards the observation yard, which was again heavily fenced in.

Barry was already there, and so were the animals. Marianne stopped short, taking in the scene before her, the other workers moving around outside the yard and casting uneasy looks inside. The Raptor's were lined up formally, all four of them, and encased in a head-only containment unity which was touchable by hands. They were secured as to only stand there, not move their heads, much like cattle were contained to be branded-tightly, as to not move. Their bodies, Marianne noted, were free moving, but safely contained behind a thick, steel wall like a racehorse stall. Their eyes shifted as Owen entered the yard, opening the door. He stopped, gave Marianne a look, and waved her in. "C'mon," he said confidently, "it's good. There's no way for them to get out."

For some reason, the old saying _"where there's a will, there's a way"_ , was the only thought she could think as she crossed the threshold.

Instantly, her body kicked into survival mode. Adrenaline spiking, it pumped blood into her ears and hammered her heart as if it were a racecar running circles through her chest. Her lungs burned for oxygen, and only then did Marianne realize she had been holding her breathe. Exhaling slowly, she gently approached the second animal she came to, Owen beside her. He grabbed her elbow slightly as if to stop her and then slowly walked towards the mechanism, reaching out gently.

Her breathe hitched. The animal snorted, shifted behind the wall, and whined with a light shriek. Marianne's body braced for impact, expecting her to burst out of the enclosure at a moment and tear her into ribbons. But she didn't, and she watched as Owen gently wrapped his arm around her thick neck, stroking the animal's head graciously as if she were a cat and not a flesh-eating Raptor.

Her amber eyes skitted around as if she were terrified only for a moment before they locked onto Marianne. Her body trembled, reptile-like skin beautiful with greens and gray patterns and speckles. She had to have been the most beautiful, terrifying thing Marianne had ever seen, much less the most astronomical. Her belly flushed with excitement and caution, and her nerves became so overwhelmed with anticipation as she listened to Owen coo the animal and whisper sweet nothings into her ears, as if soothing her. However, the animal's stare was locked on her. Marianne didn't break eye contact, swallowed thickly, and Owen outstretched an arm to her and waved her forward with his hand.

"Come. Slowly," he ordered, taking a brief second to scan her from head to toe. "She's calm. Easy." Marianne took a tentative step forward as if she were approaching a god, feeling slightly overwhelmed and overpowered, and as she stepped closer than animal shrieked, rattled behind the wall, causing the other animals to respond in the same manner. Barry instantly set to work calming the animals, Owen turning to look at the other, his attention however not leaving Marianne as she came closer, now unable to stop, as if she could. Her gaze was locked with the animal's, it drawing her in as if in hypnosis.

"Easy," Owen breathe to the animal, "Easy Echo. I'm right here, she isn't going to hurt you," Owen lowered his head to Echo's skin, his cheek resting inches from her own, his eyes now glued to Marianne, taking her in as she stepped slowly closer, "She's ok, baby. Ok."

Marianne, finally within reaching distance, stopped. Her breathe was calm and steadied, and for some odd reason heat flared up her belly and into her throat. She wasn't trembling, nor did she feel fear churning in her stomach. No, she wasn't afraid of this animal, this fellow girl trapped in a world of unknowns, uncertainties, self-consciousness. This animal was just as terrified and out of her wits as Marianne was. No; Marianne wasn't afraid of her. She identified with this animal, who once was extinct, and now had been thrown into the mix of life as she'd been.

She wasn't afraid. No. She was fascinated.

"It's ok," Marianne said quietly, raising a hand gently to touch the animal. Echo, fearing assault and threat, shrieked and parted her mouth as much as she could within the mechanism. Owen jerked back, then looked to Marianne, expecting her to falter. Marianne stopped but did not let her hand fall, "It's ok, Echo. I won't hurt you." The animal was still panicking, her body jerking and clawing at the door to get out, to defend herself, to show her true colors and test her strength. Owen just watched them stand there, eyes locked on one another. Sweat trickled down Marianne's temple. "Easy girl," she moved her hand closer, "Easy."

The animal grunted, then released a high-pitched scream of distrust, terror, and defense. Marianne, sensing her discomfort lowered her hand. Owen gave her a look of uncertainty. She looked to Echo and nodded at her, "Maybe a different time then." She looked to Owen, and then gave him a lopsided smile.

"They don't trust people too well. Like I said, it's taken me four years."

Marianne shrugged. "Trust isn't in their genes. They're hunters. If you're not blood, you're not trusted. Simple survival logic." She looked at him, "It's what separates us from them."

He turned, waved to Barry, and led her out of the yard. "That's not what Masrani's team of brainiacs seems to think." She stepped through the door and he slammed it into place, locking Barry inside with the animals, where he seemed content to be. Crossing his arms, he gave her a look, "You're not scared of them, are you?"

Marianne laughed, then scratched her head, "I'm more scared of them than I think I am," she wrinkled her brow, "If that makes sense. I think it's just an instinct to be scared of them, especially since I don't _know_ them. I'll stay on their good side and see what happens."

He laughed sarcastically, "You make it sound like they _have_ a good side,"

"Maybe they do. And you just don't see it."

He snorted, shifting his weight on his feet. "What? Like a girl's only thing?"

She smiled. "Maybe. They've never interacted with a woman before have they?"

He shrugged a shoulder, shaking his head, "No. Not one that's stood their ground before."

"Well then. We're experimenting here with unknowns. A good thing," she stretched her neck and then glanced at the watch on her wrist. Grabbing her lanyard, she twisted it around her fist and began taking a few steps back from him, towards the stairs. "A good thing...right?"

"I don't know. Too soon to tell."

She winked at him. "Too soon indeed. See you after lunch."

He furrowed his brow, "It's only noon-"

She interrupted him, "It's one thirty," and, tapping the face of her watch, she turned on her heel and smiled to herself. "See you at two." She called, waving him off without turning around. Grabbing the railing to the stairs, she hurried up them, stopping at the top to cast a look over her shoulder at him. Shaking his head, he took a few steps back, smiling at her, before saluting, turning, and approaching the observation yard's fencing again. He laced his fingers through the gating, set one foot forward and cocked a hip like men usually did in a macho, observing stance.

Marianne felt a blush rise up her neck and blossom on her cheeks. Panic struck her heart, and she pushed down the wave of emotion.

He was _way_ too handsome.

And he knew it.


	11. Chapter Eight

**Author's Note:** Dang, guys! Almost 150 reviews and only a few (seven?) chapters in? You guys are amazing! I'm so glad you're taking to Marianne and Owen so far, as well as Sophie and everyone else, as they're along for the ride too. I'm honored to be writing for you guys and to have your attention, as well as to be the recipient of such fantastic reviews!

Again, just a reminder, I did post some stuff on Pinterest, which you can find under the "Fanfiction" board if you follow the link via my profile page. Some Marianne conceptions, as well as Sophie, Claire, Owen, Zach, Gray, and Marianne's car. Actually, Marianne's car is based off of my own baby, a 1981 Chevrolet Camaro Berlinetta. The picture posted is the car I own, which is close to Marianne's. The only difference is Marianne got the better deal (the Z28, with new paint and pinstripes!).

Again; many, many thanks, and I'm excited to see where this goes!

* * *

 **Chapter Eight**

"What do you _mean_ she ate the other sibling? Is that even possible?"

Claire shifted her eyes between the window of her office, leaned far back in the leather, cream-colored computer chair with her feet propped delicately on the edge of her desk, as to not cause chaos to the pristine organization thereof. She bit down lightly on one of her manicured nails and then sighed as the lab technician rambled on about something having to do with sharks before she snapped at him again, furiously confused.

"No, you're not listening. I want to speak to Dr. Wu immediately." He protested rapidly and somewhat shakily, as if he were afraid she'd reach through the phone and strangle him, "No? Well, if you want to keep your job, I suggest you track him down." With that, she ended the call on her Samsung and let it slip out of her hand to her desk, where it collided with the steel and echoed slightly across the empty, modernized room.

She sighed, disgustedly, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She did _not_ need this today. With a million other things demanding her attention, she didn't need bad news from the lab-especially news like this. Investor's were arriving at noon to close the deal on the newly finished aviary-United Airlines, as irony would have it-and she had a publicity meeting with a representative from Children's Hospital out of Chicago. Not to mention, she had meant to go and check up on Marianne Randal's first day at the paddock with Owen-just out of curiosity, she told herself. Actually, she just wanted to see if there was any way to fire the woman much less keep her. Claire glanced at the clock. Just after two.

Owen would be getting ready to head back to the paddock. Claire knew his schedule well enough-men weren't hard to figure out, especially if you'd dated one long enough. Though their relationship had developed purely around a drunken tequila gut-spilling and had lasted three weeks, it had been enough time for Claire to know Owens's whereabouts and regular schedule. He may not have been physically organized, but as a Navy man, he knew how to stick to a schedule and keep it well. Perhaps the only thing Claire really admired about him-the rest was in need of serious... _work._

But, he was the only decent guy she'd come across since high school, so that meant something. Though having ended their relationship on less than glamorous terms, Claire would admit-on her deathbed-that she still was attracted to him, still drawn in by those sharp, intelligent blue eyes that had taunted her most of their relationship. She still was mesmerized by his childish grin and his flippant outlook on life, as well as his crazy stories and by-the-seat-of-his-pants plans. Claire had asked herself a million times if it was desperation which attracted her to him, or it was the need to break free from control and her...brilliance, or if she needed to fire her psychiatrist.

But Marianne...there was something about her Claire couldn't place, besides the fact she had blatantly insulted her intelligence in the car. She frowned at the thought of that...boorish woman, telling her what she would and wouldn't do and about control. All Claire could think about her was that she was indeed boorish...she certainly looked the part, anyway; and Claire ran her hand across her abdomen-she'd worked two summers for these abs and were proud of them.

Any worry she had about Marianne in such... _close_ quarters with Owen immediately took flight from her mind. Owen wouldn't go for a girl like that. He was shallow in that department, and most guys were. At least she had that on Marianne, if everything else she could think of somehow failed. After all, a picture was worth a thousand words. And men were visually stimulated before anything else.

Claire tapped her finger on the desk, eyes glued to the face of the computer, which was dark. The bright and airy room was silent, her tapping her feet to nothing unparticular as she sorted through the events of the day. Wu...now, representative at five, United at five thirty, and Owen at six.

Or, make that seven. She decided she hated these pants.

Her phone pinged. She glanced at it, recognizing the text from Zach. She closed her eyes, sighing. She'd forgotten about them...again. Claire had sent her personal assistant, Zara, out to look after them as she was at work, but she'd failed to keep the boys reeled in and had slugged back into the office. Claire had been furious, but couldn't blame the woman. They were impossible...from what she could remember, anyway.

She texted him back, told him dinner was at six thirty at the steakhouse by the resort. Tapping her finger on the arm of her computer chair, she slipped her feet from the desk and back into her heels, grabbing her ID badge from the drawer. Twirling the lanyard around her finger, she grinned, and headed towards the door.

Make Owen eight, then.

. . .

Marianne's breathe came in short spurts, her lungs gasping for air, burning as if they'd suddenly been filled with sulfur instead of thick, muggy jungle air.

Her stomach rumbled as she pressed her fingers into the dirt, her feet skidding across the rocks of the gravel road only slightly as she propelled herself forward. Dripping curls swatted her face, but she did nothing to curb them, pumping her arms alongside her as the jungle to her left passed by in a blur. Her vision was focused on the Camaro in front of her at twenty yards...then ten...then five. Her heart was hammering and the stitch in her side burned like mad.

She practically fell into the Camaro's front, panting and sweating. She checked her watch, realizing it was almost two thirty and that lunch was over in fifteen minutes. Sprawling on the hood of the car, the hot metal searing her skin, she closed her eyes and let the sticky air, absent of breeze, fill her lungs.

Her stomach gurgled.

Having decided to forgo lunch, she'd driven back to her bungalow instead and had rummaged through a box to find a pair of tennis shoes. Having changed into a pair of sweats and a work-out shirt, Marianne had ripped a bed sheet in half and had driven half-way to the paddock , parking a mile out. Stopping at a large tree, she'd made her way through the overgrown ditch and tied the bed-sheet around a tree, then got in her car and had done her best at calculating fifty yards. Getting out of the car and into the blistering head and been discouraging, but she'd managed. However, by the fifth suicide-run, she not only had a stitch in her side, but her outfit was thoroughly soaked with sweat. Silently cursing her family gene pool, she draped an arm over her belly and moaned.

This would be the start of her exercising routine, as much as she hated the prospect.

Slipping off the hood of the car, she looked in both directions and found no one coming or going to or from the paddock. So, stripping off her exercise clothes, she donned the outfit she'd worn into the office, sweaty and all, and drove back to the paddock. Finding the technicians-she recalled Owen introducing them as Silas and Briggs-hard at work loading a Polaris side-by-side with a huge box, she parked her car and approached them, keys at hand. They instantly stopped to stare at her, the bigger man with a black wide-brimmed hat wiped sweat from his upper lip, devouring her with his eyes.

A huge man of what she assumed was close to two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle and experience, he had shoulder-length brown hair which hung in stringy strands, as well as leathery, tanned skin. Faded jeans, boots, and an open-leather vest over a bare chest completed his look, and Marianne remembered Owen had said something about the man coming from Australia. He certainly looked the part, but that didn't set her at ease, because his eyes were dark and stared at her as if she were meat. Squaring her shoulders, she nodded to them.

"Hey," she stopped and gestured to the box, "looks like you guys are working hard."

The smaller man, Silas; a blonde bodybuilder type, spit to the side and leaned against the vehicle, pulling gloves off his hands. He had a mustache and side-burns, complete with glowing green eyes which she thought were a bit awkward. He was a head taller than her and broader, with extenuated, curving muscle. "Yeah, we are. Could say the same thing about you." He gave her a half smile and gestured to her wet curls, "Climate's a bit rough your first few weeks. You'll get used of it."

Feeling embarrassed her sweating was noticeable, she felt a blush coming onto her nose, and hoped it blended in with whatever was left of her sunburn, "I hope so."

Silas turned from her and reached into the vehicle, Briggs still staring. She gave him a weak smile before backing up a few steps, and waving at them, "I'll see you guys later-"

"You did real good today," Briggs said abruptly. She stopped short, blinked at him, waiting for him to complete his thought, "with the girls. No one's ever warmed up to them that quick." He gave her a once over, "Especially you bein' a sheila and whatnot. You got some brass-"

Before Marianne could interrupt him, a revving of an engine caught him mid-sentence, Marianne whipping her attention over her shoulder, where she spotted Owen and a little girl riding in. She turned back to Briggs, gave him a half smile, and turned back to Owen, where he slowed the bike and dropped his feet to the ground, eyes locked on her Camaro. He revved the gas again, dropped his hands from the handle-bars, unaware she was approaching. Marianne, feeling slightly impressive, came up to the bike and caught the little girl's attention.

She whipped her helmeted head towards Marianne, stared at her a minute, and tapped his shoulder. Owen turned his head and smiled at her, then lowered the kick-stand on his bike before flicking the keys off. The little girl hurried off the bike, Owen following by swinging his leg over. He helped her out of the helmet and set it on the seat. Swinging her black curls, Marianne remembered the girl as Sophie, from B-Deck the day before. Then she remembered Owen as an Uncle and their reunion on the dock.

Owen crossed his arms over his chest, Sophie still staring at Marianne. Marianne gave her a small smile and wave. "When you said you had a car on the island, you really meant _a_ car," he shook his head, then shot a glance at her with a sparkle in his eye, "I'm impressed."

Marianne, trying not to blush, shrugged a shoulder. "Thanks. And you should be impressed; it's an 1981, and I redid it myself." She tipped her head to the side and looked to the little girl, "And I remember you, Sophie Forester. From B-Deck."

The girl nodded, "Yeah. And I remember you...Marianne, right?"

She gave the girl a firm nod, "You got it." Marianne gave Owen a look with raised brows, "So...your niece?" She crossed her arms, then pointed at Owen and looked to Sophie, "He's your Uncle?"

Sophie nodded, her eyes twinkling, and looked up to him, "Yep. My Mom's brother." Marianne nodded slowly, bit down on her lower lip gently, and looked between them.

"Your first time at Jurassic World?" She asked, curious. The girl couldn't have been more than eight years old, and by the look in her eyes and the exhaustion imprinted on her face, Marianne had guessed it was a first time visit for the girl, as she looked as if she hadn't seen Owen in forever.

The girl nodded, Owen lowering a hand for her to take. She did and smiled at Marianne. "Yeah. I got a ticket for my birthday." She shrugged, "It was a month ago, but still." Owen and Marianne shared a look before looking to Sophie.

Marianne nodded to her, "Well then, happy _late_ birthday." She then asked, "How old are you?"

"Eight."

"Cool. Two more years until double digits, huh?"

Owen widened his eyes at Sophie and then shook his head, "Oh god. I don't think the world's ready." This elicited giggles from Sophie, and caused Marianne to crack a grin. Owen, shifting his weight and turning to her car, released Sophie's hand and began to make his way around her car slowly, running his fingers along the pinstripes on the driver's side. He whistled, "Dang. You said it was an '81?"

Marianne nodded, sauntering over to the car to stand at the other side, by the passenger's fender. She ran her finger along the pinstriping carefully, remembering the memories of the summer she'd done them with her Dad, "Yep. This is the Z28 model, as compared to the-"

"-Berlinetta model," he nodded and gave her a lopsided smile. Stopping beside her on the passenger's side, he squatted to look into the tinted windows, cupping his hands around his eyes to peer inside. Marianne closed her eyes, inhaled sharply, and hoped he didn't see her workout clothes on the floor.

"Yeah. The Z28 is lighter, faster, and has a bit more torque-"

"I know, my sister had the Berlinetta," he stood to his full height beside her, "A buddy had the Z28. Smoked her every time," he winked, "Not that I would know or anything."

"You _raced_ Mom's car?" Sophie piped up from behind them. Both adults turned to listen to her, giving her their full attention, "Did she know? She'd kill you if she found out, Uncle Owen!" Her smile denounced all concern she may have had for the incident, and Owen raised his chin at her and chuckled, leaning against the rocker-panel of the Camaro, arms crossed over his brazened chest.

"I _know_ she would. It'll be our secret," he shifted his eyes towards Marianne, narrowing them and giving her a suspicious look. His tone, however, was entirely sarcastic. "that is, if Marianne here can be trusted."

Marianne, giving a mock-serious face, straightened and saluted at him, trying not to crack a smile. "Scout's honor," she then winked at Sophie and Owen pushed himself off the car, heading around the bike and taking Sophie's hand. Marianne began to follow the pair.

"Sophie here's gunna spend the rest of the day with us in the office," Owen called to her over his shoulder, "while I go over some of the basic charts and logs with you and explain them in detail, since next week we'll start on field work and whatever else you'll need to know." Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a square of folded papers, and pronounced them to her between his fingers, "I managed to swipe a few vet sheets so we can make copies. I forgot we were out."

Marianne, raising her brows behind them, was impressed. She had highly doubted the fact he knew where the keys to the file cabinet had been, much less that he needed copies. The KA-BAR she wore inside her boot rubbed awkwardly against her ankle, and she realized she'd forgotten to put new socks on after stripping off her old ones. Sighing, she trudged the steps and followed Sophie and Owen into the office.

Instantly Sophie seated herself in the computer chair and began rolling slightly behind the desk, obviously bored. Owen rounded the desk, set the folded square of paper on the desk, and then froze. He looked around, did a full circle, and jerked a look back to Marianne.

"The stuff-"

She stopped him, "Done," she chimed, gesturing to the cabinet, "filed away. Whatever wasn't relevant I organized into the shelf behind you." She motioned for the bookcase, where she'd written on the spines and tabs of the folders and had stacked them accordingly. He approached, plucked one, scanned the label, and fingered through it. He chuckled, impressed, and flopped it close, careful to replace it in its proper spot.

"Holy," he released a breathe, "that didn't take long."

Marianne shrugged and seated herself across the desk from Sophie, who was busy trying to hack into Owen's computer rapidly. "I told you it wouldn't. I wouldn't be doing my job if it did take me forever. I'd give you permission to pummel me if it took longer than a day."

He came up behind Sophie, then tickled her sides from behind, causing her to burst into loud, rich, and pure laughter. Marianne smiled at the two of them, and Owen put his hands on the desk on either side of Sophie, trapping her inside. He looked up to Marianne and then to the computer, "Well, I don't think I'd hit a girl over something as stupid as paperwork."

"You shouldn't hit girls _at all,_ " Sophie retorted, looking up at him. He stared down at her, smiling, their noses almost touching. "And _especially_ not a girl as nice as Marianne. She helped me on the boat."

He tipped his head slightly to the side, giving Marianne his attention. She felt as if she'd drop through the floor and into the paddock to become raptor chow at any moment, but when she didn't, she wasn't relieved. "She did now?"

Sophie nodded. "Yup." Owen stood and shrugged a shoulder, punching in a few keys on the keyboard and motioning for Sophie to get up out of the chair. When she obeyed, he sat, and then she sank onto his knee and stared into his computer screen as he clicked away.

"Well then, many thanks for helping my lost and confused little bug on her journey across the big water," he smiled and nuzzled his chin into Sophie's neck. She curled into a ball, giggled, and Marianne watched them, her heart swelling. It sank immediately. He looked at her, "But seriously. Thanks."

Marianne nodded. "Yeah. Glad to help."

He nodded once, clapped his hands together and rubbed them as if completing a masterminded plot in his head, and pointed both index fingers at the paper-square on his desk. He puffed out an exasperated breath, leaned back in his chair, and ran a hand through his hair, only to smooth his mustache with his fingers. "Ok then. So. Let's talk about this and then I'll show you some stuff on the computer." He motioned between the two with his fingers.

Marianne gave a firm nod, crossing one leg over the other. "Alright. You have my attention."

His eyes sparkled, catching her off guard, and he gave her a half smile. "Right on. Let's do this."


	12. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

Claire politely moved her steak-knife back and forth, the tip of the sharpened object tearing into the meaty slab of medium-welled cooked cow before her. Peering inside the meaty flesh, and checked the cooks work and then nodded to the waiter when it was a juicy grey, cooked just perfectly to her liking. Knifing off a piece, she brought it to her mouth, the tangy taste of lemon and lime baste stinging her nose and sending a delicious sensation through her tongue.

She looked across the table at Gray, who had ordered a honey-mustard chicken _Crunch!_ salad. The boy's eyes widened as the waiter set the heaping bowl of lettuce and other additives in front of him, resting a saucer of honey-mustard dressing beside him. Claire then peered at Zach, who had already received his order of tacos. She nodded to the waiters, excused them, and reached for her water glass.

They sat in silence a few moments.

Taking a long drink, her eyes shifted between them, and she replaced the sweating glass. Having changed into a lilac colored sundress and heels, she'd pinned her hair back in a twist and clip, and had touched up her make-up. After all, she didn't want to be seen at dinner looking like a disheveled heap. Claire tried to tell herself it was for the sake of her nephew's, not the fact that she would be dropping in on Owen after dinner as she applied makeup an hour earlier.

Claire hadn't realized Gray had asked her a question until Zach snapped his fingers in front of her face, causing her to jolt back into reality and away from her thoughts of Owen. "Aunt Claire? Earth to Aunt Claire?"

"I'm here," she gave Zach an annoyed look a sister might've given instead of an aunt. "What was the question?"

Gray motioned to her with his fork. "How was your day?"

Claire stopped mid-bite, and stared at the young boy. His light brown hair hung in shaggy curls around his face, bright eyes illuminated under the chandelier lights above their table. Gray was the spitting image of his mother, Claire's sister, and had as much joy and genius packed inside him as her sister did. Zach, however, took after her brother-in-law, with dark brown hair and fair skin, pouty lips, and deep, serious eyes. An emotional teenager like all the rest, he was always sarcastic and dripping with remarks. Both of them reminded Claire of a life she'd left behind in Washington state, and she hated it.

She blinked, taking in the question, before she could form a reply. "My day? Well, it was nice." It had gone decently-publicity with Children's was peaking nicely, and the United Airlines deal had sealed magnificently. The only thing which had went wrong was her meeting with Henry, which hadn't even happened yet. She took a petite bite, "How was your day, you two?"

Zach huffed, "Decent," he mumbled, taking a bite of taco. He looked depressed and exhausted, and had gotten some sun on his face. She smile weakly at him and then looked to Gray, who took a huge bite of salad and began munching. She smiled at him, and crossed a leg over the other beneath the table, wishing to God this dinner was over already.

"How about your day, Grey?" She'd given up trying to talk about Zara. They'd never admit to their behavior anyway, and she couldn't force them to be watched. Besides, Zach should've been old enough to watch out for the two of them.

"Good," he uttered through his mouthful of salad, "The T-Rex is awesome."

She smiled. Karen had said Gray was a dinosaur fanatic. She was glad he found pleasure in the Rex, which was Jurassic World's highest grossing attraction, the Mosasaurus falling second and the petting zoo third. She nodded to him, "Did you see her...eat lunch?"

He nodded frantically, eyes sparkling with life at mention of them, "Yeah, I did! It was amazing! There was blood and, and guts, and-"

She put up a hand, doing her best to not be disgusted and chuckled, "Well, yes, I've seen it before. Let's not bring it up over dinner, okay?"

His shoulders slumped, defeated. Zach glared at her from across the table, Claire giving him an innocent look. She ate the last piece of her steak, stomach gurgling in protest as she remembered the T-Rex feeding the first time she'd witnessed it. She'd vowed to never see another as long as she was in the park, it had been so disgusting. "Well, I'm glad you two are having a good time. I see you've found your wrist bands," she pointed at Zach's with her fork, nodding and reaching for her dinner glass, "I've arranged for a side-by-side for you to drive tomorrow, to all the attractions. It's under my name, so you'll have to be careful," Zach nodded, as if it were a cool idea, Gray swinging his legs under the table and taking another large bite of his dinner. She looked between them. "It'll be outside the resort for you around seven."

Zach's eyes widened. "In the _morning_?"

She nodded, giving him a superior smile. "Yes, in the morning. Most of the animal's feed in the early hours, and if you want to see them all in one place, you have to be up. Don't worry. I've arranged it all myself."

Zach rolled his eyes, sinking in his chair. Gray beamed at her, all excitement, and bobbed his head in an overly excited nod. They finished dinner, shared a quick desert, and Claire bid them goodnight, seeing them off to the resort and into the elevator, before she headed out to the Mercedes coupe. Night had befallen the park, leading most of the guests outdoors, the late-nighters out for drinks and appetizer's at the few bars dotted around the park.

It was five after eight when she came to the paddock. The garages were closed down, everything eerily quiet. Claire turned the car off, a shudder piercing her spine, and opened the door. The only lights on were the overheads above the stairs and sporadically around the paddock, and of course the one's in the office. She saw a broad-shouldered frame pass the window, unmistakably Owen by its gait, and she smiled a half smile. He was far too easy. The last time she'd come when it was dark she'd had him eating out of her palm.

Slowly taking the stairs, she noticed all the vehicles had been parked and the garage was closed-evidence the workers and technicians had retired. All that was around was the dark jungle, which gave her creeps. Even though contained on the island, she felt as if something were going to spring out of the darkness and attack her. She brushed the thought aside-Claire had everything under and control and in order. Nothing was going to spring out at her.

At the top step, she stopped, stared down at the front of her chest, and arranged her breasts-as if she needed the help. Clearing her throat quietly, she smoothed the edge of her dress, smacked her lips together, and approached the closed door. Grabbing the knob, she twisted it, pulled it open and was blasted with a spring of cool air, the smell of gardenia's mixed with a strange aftershave, popcorn and-

-laughter. Pure, bubbling laughter.

Claire froze in the door, taking in the scene. The laughter was cut short upon her arrival, her eyes widening somewhat at the scene. She dropped her hand from the knob, fumbled with her clutch purse, as the three figures took in her presence as if she were a space alien instead of a woman. Her mouth suddenly went dry, and her chest constricted. Her eyes leveled on the figure behind the desk. Jealousy racked her heart.

Marianne. Starting at her.

"Claire," Owen said suddenly, getting up from the chair in the corner. His feet dropped from the windowsill where they'd been propped and he wiped his hands on his pants. Claire's gaze focused on the other female in the room, who sat in the corner quietly with a pen and computer paper drawing. She looked up at Claire blankly, as it waiting for something to transpire. "What are you doing out here?" Owen crossed his arms over his chest, giving her a curious look.

She shook her head slightly. "What? I have to have a reason?" She spat.

He shrugged his shoulders, shifted his weight, and smiled at her tauntingly, as if he knew she'd get mad at him and enjoy it, "Don't you always?"

She looked at him, mouth slightly agape. Had he really just said that to her? Two could play this game, "I find that with you, Owen Grady, having areason for everything is necessary, since employees like you need a reason for tying your shoes, much less doing your job." He scratched the back of his neck, nodding as if it were true. Claire whipped her gaze to Marianne, who was behind the desk, a pen behind her ear and the computer screen on, casting illuminated light onto her face.

"What did you need, Claire?" Owen gave her that infamous smile and a wink, "Since we all know you didn't come here to shoot the breeze."

She sighed, cocked her hip, and rolled her eyes. "Yes, actually; I came to see how things were going with Miss Rand-Marianne," she approached the desk and looked down at the woman, "How was your first day, Marianne?"

Her mouth fell slightly open as if she couldn't believe she'd been asked a question. At least Claire had enough maturity to continue speaking to her after their conversation in the coupe. Collecting herself, Marianne took the pen from behind her ear and shot a look to Owen and then back at Claire. "Oh. Well. It's been great." She sat back in her chair, "And I did some organizing up here so it worked out good."

Claire nodded, then gave her a side look, "I see you managed," she shot a look over to Owen, who dropped a finger-full of popcorn into his mouth. The young girl, Claire recognized her from the docks, stood between his knees, watching him with wide, adoring, smart eyes. Claire looked away and rolled her eyes, "And everyone," she shot a look over to Owen, tapping her finger on the desk, "Has been good to you?" She asked, pretending to be curious.

Marianne nodded, giving her a small smile, and Claire thought she could see the woman processing her lack of true curiosity. She felt as though Marianne could see right through her. "Good enough. It's only my first day. I think we're getting along just _smashing._ " The last bit sent Claire's temper whirring, noting Marianne's sarcasm. "Thanks for asking."

"Hm," Claire turned on her heel, "Well, it's late. I just wanted to see how things went your first day." Owen draped his head back over the chair, stared at her upside down and gave her the silliest looking grin. She cursed his immaturity, not bothering to give the girl a look, only letting her eyes linger over his biceps, which were showing nicely through his shirt. "Goodnight, everyone."

"G'night, Claire. Thanks for droppin' in," he waved at her, winked, and the little girl grabbed his vest and pulled him up. They began whispering, and Claire looked to Marianne, her eyes narrowing slightly at the woman, who looked at her as if she'd outsmarted a fox.

"Goodnight, Miss Dearing. Drive safetly," she chirped, waving her out. Claire said nothing, upturned her chin, and closed the door behind her.

Stopping with her hand still on the knob, the muggy hair dotted perspiration on her forehead. She inhaled a sharp breathe. Claire hadn't expected Marianne to be working such... _late_ hours, nor had she expected the little girl. Or the clean office. Or the popcorn for that matter. Huffing, she stormed towards the stairs, took them loudly, stopping only when she heard the rustling of leaves and the rush of wind behind the thick paddock walls. Her heart pitched and she hustled to her car, furious, and somewhat let down.

She shrugged it off, thumped the door closed, and turned the key in the ignition, lingering. It screeched in protest, her dropping her hand to the shifter, and shifted into drive. Tearing out of the lot, she glanced into the rearview, rolled her eyes, and glanced at the clock. Eight twelve. No matter, she told herself. Not a big deal.

She knew where Owen lived.

. . .

Marianne was more than jealous as Claire stared at her as if she were a superior being on a gold pedestal.

The tension in the room had been thick enough to split the world open and drain the oceans. She'd just sat in her chair, watching the red-head, thinking how much Claire resembled a fox with a petite face and thin, long nose; shifty, intelligent eyes trying to process her presence. Marianne could tell immediately the woman had _not_ been anticipating Marianne or Sophie's presence in Owen's office at eight at night. After all, she smelled Victoria's Secret, and that never lied.

And she'd spotted Claire out the office window... _spiffing up._

It was obvious Claire and Owen had history-their iciness and one-upping of one another was evidence enough. Claire had peered at Marianne as if she could shoot lasers out of her eyes, as if she were vermin that needed exterminated or a dog that needed put out of the way. Marianne had watched her interact with Owen, sensed the uneasiness between them, but had noted that Owen was cool as could be around the vixen. However, Claire's eyes betrayed her, and Marianne just _knew_ she wasn't fully over Owen, however long their relationship had ended.

Marianne shifted her eyes away from Sophie and Owen, pretending to busy herself by picking up the blank, butter stained pieces of computer paper they'd used as napkins for the popcorn-which, strangely enough, Owen kept in his office. She couldn't bear to watch them catch popcorn in their mouths any longer-the moment was too much, the sweetness almost unbearable; and not in a bad way. He was great with kids, and that was fantastic-but it did nothing to help Marianne suppress the rising attraction she had to him. As she tossed the papers away and brushed her hands on her thighs, she closed her eyes and sighed, back to them. She'd never be what Claire was, no matter how many suicide runs or diets or miles on the treadmill.

Finally, after pretending to look busy, she sensed Owen get up from the chair. Turning to them, she found him stretching his arms above his head, which almost touched the ceiling, and then turn his neck to stretch it out as well. Sophie sat as his feet, picking up her paper and pens, and got up to replace the pen in its proper place and fold the papers precisely to fit in her back pocket. Marianne watched her but then sensed Owen staring at her. She shifted her gaze to him and he abruptly looked away.

"Well," he flattened his lips, raised his brows, and slapped his hands on his thighs as if changing the subject, "I say it's time to call it a night and catch some Z's. Whattya think, Soph?" The little girl nodded, walking towards the door, and then looked between the two adults, quietly.

"I'll wait outside," her lips lifted into a smile, Marianne's heart kicking into high gear. Her breathe hitched and her stomach began to panic, eyes shifting to Owen. She gave him an uneasy, somewhat uncomfortable look, one he shared, and before they could stop her Sophie had closed the door and was hurrying towards the steps.

"Uh," Owen rubbed the back of his neck, walking to the corner and lifting a backpack over his shoulder. Marianne lunged for the desk lamp, clicked it off, and pressed the monitor button on the computer. Quickly sweeping up the legal pad and a pen from earlier, she moved towards the door, not looking at him. "That's...that's Sophie for ya. She, uh, can jump to conclusions."

"She's a kid," Marianne said a bit too quickly, hoping to God he couldn't see the blush on her cheeks from the little girl's blatant attempt to get them to say a more than romantic goodbye, as if this were a movie. She swallowed and he beat her to the door with his hand, reaching beside her to turn the knob slowly and open the door for her. She attempted to calm her breathe, unsure of what to do in the awkwardness of the situation, and he stepped up behind her, her stepping through the door, unwilling to get close to him.

Already the smell of motorcycle exhaust, the jungle, and sweat pounded her senses. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear and turned to him, thinking she should probably say something along the lines of "goodnight", or "see ya tomorrow". Only when she realized Sophie wasn't around did she think better of it. Owen locked the office door and she hurried down the steps.

They met Sophie at the bottom, Marianne stopping to nod to her and crouch before the little girl, who sat on the bottom step. The corner of Marianne's mouth wrinkled into a smile, and she winked at the girl. "It was good to get to know you, Sophie. I'll see you around sometime?" She hoped it didn't sound too presumptuous, since Owen was standing a step up behind Sophie, watching them.

The little girl rapidly nodded, a smile cracking onto her face. "Yeah. I hope so. You're smart," she craned her head back and looked up to her Uncle. Marianne's eyes shifted up to him as well, her unmoving. "Isn't she, Uncle Owen?"

He nodded, gave Marianne a very sexy half smile, and tweaked Sophie's nose. "Yeah. I'd say she's pretty smart if she can clean up all my junk. Pretty dang smart."

Heat flared onto Marianne's nose, and she abruptly stood. Taking a few steps back, she waved at them, back to where her Camaro was parked. She fished for her keys in her pocket, pointing at Sophie. "Well. I'll see you later," then she pointed at Owen, "and I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks for the popcorn."

He nodded, saluting her playfully, "Yep. See ya. Drive safe," he gestured to the jungle around them, "There's wild animals around here, y'know." He grinned at her, lightly chuckling at his own joke.

She smiled at him, chuckling a well, "Yeah. I kinda got that." Then, turning on her heel, she brought her key out of her pocket and rushed to the Camaro, opening the door. Before she could slip inside, she heard the two of them heading towards the bike, arguing.

"What you _do_ that for, kid?" She heard him ask. Ducking into the car, she slammed the keys into the ignition and flicked the lights on. Slamming her head against the headrest, she turned the car over and waited until Owen and Sophie sped past her, Owen offering a wave and gunning the engine of the Triumph, red tail lights vanishing around the corner. She gunned the engine, followed, and opened her window, the muggy night air blasting the smell of jungle into the car.


	13. Chapter Ten

**Author's Note:** Holy smokes. Almost 200 reviews and I'm not even in the double-digits. I guess I didn't realize my idea was _that_ fantastic, but truly I am flattered, shucks guys. *blushes*

Okay, I just want to clear something up about Marianne: her weight issue. This is Marianne's struggle throughout the story, basically the defining road-block she has to overcome to grow and develop as a character. For this reason, it's a big thing in this story and it will be mentioned quite frequently, as this is a psychological issue.

If you're not heavy, you may not understand: this is a _huge_ issue. It can be life-consuming. It's one of those things you think about when you take a shower and get dressed for work, or when you climb the stairs. And, unfortunately, it's something women think about in the presence of hot guys. I'm a plus size girl, and let me tell you, I get _really, really_ self-conscious around guys I am attracted to, so much so that I start worrying about how I look in my outfit or my size. Literally sometimes plus size women get so down they cry at night.

So. While I have no intention of shaming plus size women, I want you all to realize this is an issue Marianne will deal with over and over. It's not a pity thing. It's a real life thing. I will try, however, to space out the mentions of it in chapters, just so it's not overwhelming. Just know that it isn't going to drop out of the story-it is, after all, dedicated to those of us who feel less beautiful. I am excited to have Marianne and Owen together!

Also, be aware (if you're still reading this far). I just started an internship for college that's full time, so updates will get few and far between. I will update when I have a few moments (hours?) so sit tight and just watch for update alerts. I appreciate all your input and reviews! Thanks tons!

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

"Aunt Claire doesn't like us much, does she?"

Zach Mitchell gave his brother a disgustedly confused look as he rubbed the water from his hair with a toweled hand, big bathrobe tied around him. Steam billowed out in a continuous stream from the bathroom where he'd just taken a shower after a late swim, pulling strokes while Gray had been insistent on Skyping their parents. The hot water from the shower had steamed away the mineral water pool, and the hot sun from the events of their day.

"What?" He asked, thoroughly confused by the question. Gray, not looking up from his "nerd-book", or the notebook he wrote his notes from his books he read in, penciled in a sketch as he peered into a dinosaur handbook, well worn and complete with frayed pages. Zach recognized it from when he was a kid.

"She doesn't like us much," Gray raised his head to look at his brother, feet swinging in the air and crossed at the ankles as he laid on his stomach on the plush bed, "She couldn't even talk to us at dinner."

Zach, sighing, rolled his eyes and fell into the other bed, "What are you talking about? She talked." Actually, he couldn't really remember her saying much outside of the conversation about the Polaris side-by-side to be delivered at seven in the morning, or her crude change of subject after having asked Gray about his day.

"Not _really_. She's boring. And not very nice. I like Aunt Ingrid better." He referred to their father's sister, Ingrid, who was an artist and lived in a studio apartment in Manhattan. Zach was thinking about staying with her after high school and pursuing a degree in food science, but hadn't really explored his options. "At least she hangs out with us." His voice sounded defeated.

Zach fell into the bed, arms spread wide open, eyes closed. "Well, ya never know. She might be with us tomorrow." He then rolled his head to look at his little brother, "Besides. You never take your head out of the clouds to notice anything anyway. With all your nerd stuff and whatever."

Gray, obviously hurt, frowned at him. Wrinkling his brow in anger, he hissed, "It's _not_ stupid. Just you watch. One day I'll become a famous paleontologist who works here with dinosaurs and _you'll_ be taking orders at McDonald's." By the look in his eye and the tone in his voice, Zach wouldn't sworn his brother looked forward to it. Then, cracking a smile, he giggled, "Do you want fries with that, Zach?"

Disgusted, he rolled his eyes and turned over. "Whatever."

. . .

"G'night, little bug. Don't let the bedbugs bite," Owen winked at his niece as she buried herself under the covers of the resort bed, her hair now fallen around her face in delicate, black curls. Owen couldn't help but realize she was the spitting image of her mother, his stark opposite (they were only half siblings). She wiggled her toes at the bottom of the bed, pulled the covers around her chin, and he leaned forward and planted a sloppy, loud kiss on her forehead. Then, quickly lowering his face to the crook of her neck, he nuzzled his chin into her soft skin, causing her to shriek in laughter and playfully push him away, "Or anything else, for that matter."

She giggled at him, "There isn't anything _else,_ Uncle Owen," she rolled her eyes, sighing dramatically. "Besides. I ain't afraid of bugs."

He gave her a surprised look, rubbing his chin. "Really. That's something, because I'm _terrified_ of them."

"You are not!" she insisted.

Their giggles subsided after a few moments before he kissed her forehead again and got up from the bed, reaching over to switch off the bedside lamp. Staring down at her, he had half a mind to spend the night here and not leave her alone again, but he decided against it. She was perfectly fine here in her hotel room with staff at her beck and call, just like a princess-though, being a princess had never really been Sophie's thing.

"I'll see ya t'morrow, eh, little bug?" He turned and headed towards the door, sauntering out, untucking his shirt comfortably. It was hot, he was exhausted and needed a shower, and he was starving. He opened the door and stopped it with his foot, "You up for swimmin'?"

She nodded, sitting up in bed like a lightning bolt, "Yeah!"

He gave her a quirky half smile and waved her back down, "Alright, alright, we'll swim. You have go get some sleep thou-"

"-can Marianne come with us?"

Owen abruptly stopped, clamping his mouth shut and staring at the little girl, who had refused to go down. Her face was hopeful and her eyes deep with waiting as she anticipated his answer. He'd already chastised her on the bike for quickly leaving him and Marianne to a most _obvious_ set-up, insisting that he wasn't shopping for a girlfriend at the moment. He'd only been broken up with Claire for a short while. After their...disagreement he'd decided to not look into anything serious for awhile. And, Marianne really wasn't his type. Sophie, however, hadn't really seemed to care and now was staring at him with soft, sparkling eyes.

He sighed, tromping back into the room to sit lazily beside her bed. He gave her a cheeky grin as if to prepare her to go down softly from what he was about to say. "Sophie, honey, I already told you I wasn't-"

"-she's _fun_ , Uncle Owen. And pretty. I like her." Sophie crossed her arms and raised her brows as if to give him the "I'm-right-and-you-know-it" look. "You like her too." He inhaled sharply at this, trying to retain a sigh. Why this? Why now? "Right?" Her brows perked as she asked the question.

"She's nice and all, Sophie-"

She interrupted- _again._ "If you're going to be working with her forever you might as well get to know her," she shrugged, "Mom tells me that all the time at school." She then settled back against her pillow, " _Annnd_ she's pretty, and super funny. _Annnd_ you're super handsome and super funny so-" She gestured with her hands.

It was his turn to interrupt, "Sophie," He chuckled, rubbing his neck, "We'll see, ok?" She gave him a frown. Feeling somewhat hurt by her frown, he asked, "What? I said we'll see."

"Ask her tomorrow. She'll say yes." She then gave him the puppy dog face, " _Pleeeease?"_

Rolling his eyes and groaning in mock disgust, he got up and walked towards the door. "We'll _see_." He pointed at her. "Get some sleep. I mean it."

She bounced slightly, grinning satisfied. "Ok. G'night. I love you."

"Love you too, little bug. Sleep. Now."

She rolled over, he closed the door, and hurried down the hall towards the stairs.

Where did kids learn this stuff?

. . .

Marianne tied her wet curls up into a t-shirt, standing before the mirror in her red satin robe, white-tank top, and cotton shorts. Staring at her red face, heated from a steaming shower and facial wash, she reached for the bottle of curl relaxer on the counter, sticking halfway out of travel bag.

Spraying some of the cream into her hand, she gazed into the bedroom, where her suitcase was on the floor, contents sprawled around the room. On the bed, her leather thigh holster for her Beretta and KA-BAR lay unbuckled and unsheathed, the heavy armored case for her bow locked tightly in the corner. The bed was frumpled where she'd collapsed the night before, with a buzzing head.

Pulling her hair into a loose braid, Marianne stood in the middle of the bedroom, lights off, moonlight streaming through the ceiling-to-floor length windows. The jungle just outside, though opposing, was serene and quiet, lurking. Sitting Indian style in the middle of the room, she stretched over to the bed and grabbed the switchblade and sharpener and set to sharpening the knife.

Her phone buzzed on top of the heap of clothes she'd abandoned by the door, and she hurried across the floor for it. Snatching the S6, she checked caller ID and found it was Alan. Sighing, she answered, and cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear and set to the knife again.

"Hello," she smiled into the phone, a stray curl from her braid tickling her face.

" _Hey. Thought I'd check on you. Howya been, kid? Your first day okay?"_

She glanced at the clock. A little after ten, but not too late for him. "I'm good. A bit tired, but not bad. The job went good. I think I kinda blew them outta the water." She recalled the look on Owen's face when she'd gotten his office in order. Marianne didn't think he'd believed her at first that she could do it.

Alan laughed, " _Yeah? Good for you. How's your boss? Though you mentioned it was a guy called Owen or something?"_ He sounded a bit concerned but overly curious. She sighed. She knew it was coming.

"He's ok."

He snorted, " _I hope he's not_ too _charming or anything."_

She rolled her eyes. Alan was just as hell-bent on getting her off and married as her mother had been, before she'd dropped off the planet. At twenty-six, she might as well be an old maid. "Not really. A bit of a jerk."

 _"Aren't you sweet."_

She got up, tossing the knife onto the bed, padding into the living room as her satin robe skirted around her upper thighs, "I mean, he's nice enough, but he knows he's good looking and doesn't bother to hide it. He's almost as bad as you, Alan." She fell onto the couch, smiling, as he laughed at her. She fiddled with the end of her braid, "Besides. I think he's got a thing with our boss."

 _"Oh."_ He went entirely serious, " _Sounds like you're a bit more than disappointed."_

She diverted her gaze to the cushion of the cough she was cuddled up against, as if he could see her. Her heart hammered slightly and she sighed, "No, not really-he's in his thirties. Not my type."

 _"Since when is tall, dark and handsome not anyone's type, Marianne? Especially yours."_

Marianne snorted, "Nobody ever said anything about being handsome."

He chuckled, but said nothing.

She contemplated his statement, the dark haired man from her past thrashing into her mind like a wild animal and seizing hold of her thoughts like a mad beast. She knew him as Nick Van Owen, a friend of Alan's acquaintance, Ian Malcolm. They'd dated for little under a year while she was a senior in college before Nick had left for Iraq in search of a career in war journalism. The last she'd heard of him was that he'd married and had two sons, taking to wildlife photography in the Amazon, living out of an RV.

 _"But, enough about your boss. Tell me. Have you seen them?"_

The seriousness and wonder mixed in his voice caught her off guard. She hitched a breath, bit down on her lower lip, and thought about telling him about the raptors. She knew he'd kill her and demand that she come home-probably even come and get her himself. Marianne recounted his warnings, like flashing red bulbs on a submarine, signaling her of impending danger. She felt like she'd been struck and was going under. Deciding to stick with the vague truth, she exhaled loudly.

"No, not really. Just a few." _Not necessarily a lie_ , she told herself, her fingers sinking into her hair as she scratched her scalp. The smell of lavender and vanilla overwhelmed her before she added, "Nothing too spectacular, if that's what you want to know."

 _"I just want to know that you're safe."_ His tone was biting.

The corner of her mouth lifted in a quirky smile, "I _am_ safe, Alan."

" _As long as you are on that island, Marianne, you or anyone else will never convince me of that."_

She was silent at this. Marianne, knowing his concern, couldn't argue with him after his past history. She'd read his book, his journal entries, listened to his stories and heard his screams of terror in the night. Marianne couldn't begin to fathom the fear and horror inside of him about this. She lifted up a prayer for him before answering, "I'm not alone out here, Alan."

 _"If you're referring to God, Marianne, I doubt He'd be step foot on that island, much less be supportive."_ His lack of faith surprised her, as he'd never really encouraged talk of religion or faith much. It was one of things he'd foregone in his lifetime of pursuing science and factual answers.

"There's opportunity here like anywhere else," she was not only referring to faith but for success as well. She knew while he was negative deep down he wanted this park to succeed, wanted to see people fall in love with history and with dinosaurs like he so had in his lifetime. Deep down she knew he would like to see this place come out on top. "You shouldn't be so negative."

 _"Not negative, sweetheart. Just realistic. You can't control something that's sixty-five million years out of place."_ She rolled her eyes at his exaggeration, _"Or anything else extinct for that matter."_ Never much for the millions of years theory, she got up and stretched her legs. Groaning slightly, she yawned and checked the clock on her phone.

"I know. I'm being careful." If you called being almost eaten her first day careful. But, he didn't need to know that. "You know that much about me." She yawned again.

He chuckled, " _Yeah, I know. You sound tired."_ She padded towards the bedroom after clicking the lock closed on the door. Moving to the window, she pulled the drapes and began cleaning off the bed, " _I'll let you get some sleep."_

"Sounds good," she moved onto the bed and fell onto her back, closing her eyes. "Thanks for the call, Alan."

 _"No problem, kid. Rest up. Don't work too hard."_

She laughed, "You've apparently never seen Owen's office."

Alan snorted, then sighed, " _Still got your sense of humor, I see. Take it easy and watch your back, alright? I don't want to have to come and rescue you like-"_

She sighed, fluttering her eyes closed. "Alan."

" _-yeah, you're right. Sleep well, sweetheart, and call me soon. Say hi to the Rex for me."_

. . .

"Claire. Hi. _Again._ "

A smile crept onto Claire Dearing's lips. Their cherry red color had looked perfect in the car when she'd checked, after reapplying safely and spritzing more Victoria's Secret onto her clothes. She'd thoroughly checked herself before getting out of the car, knowing this had to count more than anything they'd gone through if she was going to get him back.

Because she wanted him back.

He leaned against the door. Typical leather vest hung over an open, unclothed chest, Claire found it difficult to keep from staring. He, shifting his weight on his feet to cross one foot over the other, gave her a half smile, looking disheveled and exhausted. He smelled of tequila, exhaust, and...animal. Claire moved past him into the tight, unorganized bungalow type A-frame, glancing around the room where clothes were thrown around, dishes were unwashed, and motorcycle parts dotted the countertops.

She rubbed the back of her neck with her fingertips, giving him a glance as he kicked the door closed. Stuffing his fingers into his pants, he carefully entered the room, eyeing her carefully as if she were going to pounce him. Her lavender dress tickled the tops of her knees, her heels clicking against the floor as she moved to set her clutch on the table, which was littered with paperwork. He followed her, but she brushed past him, their shoulders touching. As Claire passed by a pile of park policy papers, she wondered if Marianne was going to organize his house too.

Or anything else.

"You want somthing to drink?" She whirled around as he gestured to the fridge. "I gotta couple of Coors cold and some tequila if you want any."

She wrinkled her nose and then laughed lightly. "You know I hate tequila."

He shrugged a shoulder, gave her a smirk, and pulled open the fridge. "You hate a lot of things, Claire." He pulled out a Coors, slammed the bottleneck against the counter, popping the top off. He took a long drink, the glass sweating in his hands, a dribble of alcohol running down his stubble. Claire had all she could do to keep her hands off him, much less her eyes. She hadn't slept with anyone in a long time...and she'd never slept with Owen, though she'd been dying to. Butterflies roamed her stomach and her chest whizzed like it was a top wound tight. "Which brings me to my next question. What brings you out here, Claire? Seems you've been...driving a lot lately."

She could tell he wasn't catching on. She stepped towards him, like a tiger would step towards its prey, feeling much like a huntress. She wondered if he was always this gullible, this easy, or if he was just playing. But, when he stopped mid-drink as she was within arm's reach, he watched her, and she knew it wasn't playing. He was genuinely off his guard. She retorted, clucking her tongue, "Well. I certainly didn't come to drink."

His brows shot up and she thought he paled. Maybe it was the lighting. "Well...ah...what _did_ you come for, Claire?"

She gave him a stare, one that she had used many a time in highschool, and ever more often in college. Her girlfriends had called it the knee-knocker look, because it sent men to their knees faster than she could say Bob's your uncle. Lifting a delicate hand, she placed it on his shoulders, running her fingertips down his arm and then stopping to squeeze his bicep. Her stare lingered, but then she looked up at him, and found he'd been watching her hand as if he'd never realized she had one. They locked eyes a moment, her heart racing with excitement, the air getting heavy. Her body was on fire.

Standing on tip-toes, she stepped forward, tipping her head slightly to the left. Letting her eyes droop closed, she released a breathe, his masculine smell overtaking her nerves. She felt as though she'd burn into the floor. Lifting her foot into a delicate pop, she slowly raised her arms to wrap around his neck. He dropped his hand that held the bottle to his side, standing there, looking at her with a slightly furrowed expression. It sent her heart racing. "I think you _know_ what I came for, Owen. I think we both know."

"Claire, I-"

She interrupted, moving a manicured finger to his lips. He quieted, "Shh. Don't say anything. Don't..." She moved in closer, her eyes fully closing, and she could feel his breath. The warmness of his body caressed her, and she was almost ready to relax and lean into him...

...when she staggered forward, the air empty.

Her eyes popped open, she tripped over her feet, staggering to keep balance. Squealing, Owen rushed to dip and assist her, Claire shooing him away furiously. He stepped back from her, away, and she whirled around to face him. Chest heaving for air, she glared at him. " _What_ are you doing?" She demanded.

"The better question is, Claire, what are _you_ doing?" He took a drink of his Coors, "I thought we were over."

"Well, yes, but-"

He gave her a sarcastic look, "But what? So now you want to be friends?"

Her mouth fell open to protest, but she could form no words. She glared at him. He wagged a finger at her, squinting his eyes closed to make a point, "Owen-"

"No, wait. By what you were insinuating, it sounds like you want to be friends... _with benefits_." He smacked his lips together, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, baby, but it doesn't work like that." He leaned against the wall, one arm supporting him, the other the Coors still in hand. "I'm not _that_ desperate, Claire."

"Well. Never have I been more-"

"-presumptuous? Stuck up? C'mon, you can say it. Desperate?"

Furious, she stomped a foot at him, lunging around practically springing for the table to retrieve her purse. Pulling it into her body, she hurried towards the door, flinging it open. Blood pumped madly through her ears, eyes seeing nothing but red, rageful, pools. Her heart burned with indignance. That arrogant, ignorant, pompous pig! _How_ could she have let herself fling her body at him as if he were God's gift to women? Storming down the steps, the screen door closed and she felt him staring at her. She whipped open the door to the coupe, staggering over the soft grass in her heels, practically falling inside with a plop. She glared at him, door still open.

"Goodnight, Claire." He taunted her.

Pausing, chest rising rapidly to catch her breath, she slammed it closed for emphasis. Whipping the car on and slamming it into drive, she roared out of his yard and down the road towards the resort. She shook her head, body trembling with rage.

She really hated that man.


	14. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

It was like choosing between a GTO and a Camaro.

 _Impossible._

Really, that was the only word suitable for Marianne's morning choice between an apple and coffee or a donut. She'd decided on coffee just fine, and she'd gotten herself dressed that morning wonderfully. It had all been a dream until she'd gone into the resort for breakfast, her bungalow having no food in house whatesoever.

It had all gone so downhill so quickly.

Now it was an all out stare-fest between her, an apple, and a delicious jelly donut parked beneath shining pastry-case lights and securely resting behind Plexiglas doors. The apple was perched keenly in a power of fruit next to the register, Marianne eyeing both as if they each possessed the holy grail. Sighing, she eyed the donut, and then was about to reach for the apple when someone nudged her as they brushed past, towards the donuts. They stopped directly in front of the case.

Taking it as an omen, she hardly heard him apologize. A boy about twelve years old, he had shaggy brown curls and was dressed in jeans and a grey t-shirt, which cleverly covered a small leather pouch resting on his hip. A slight sunburn graced his nose. He looked up at her and smiled, "Sorry. You going for one of these?"

She shook her head, "No. Help yourself." He nodded, open the door, and pulled out a glazed ring. She eyed it hungrily, but then wrapped her fingers around the apple, thinking how many suicide-runs it would take to burn the carbs and sugars off. Pulling the apple to her mouth, she paid the register, "Looks good though." Marianne hoped she wasn't drooling.

He nodded. "I love donuts." He handed the cashier a dollar, she made change, and he began to leave. Marianne, grabbing her coffee, hurried out of the breakfast shop into the quietness of the morning. He glanced over his shoulder, biting into the donut, eyes focused on the ID hanging slightly out of her pocket.

"You work here?" He asked, curious. She looked up at him and nodded, digging around her purse for her phone.

"Yeah." The coffee mug shifted in her hands, coffee sloshing over the side, burning her hand a bit. Giving him a weak smile, she noted the Explorer package bracelet around his wrist (she'd read the brochure on the ferry, afterall). "How long are you here?" She decided if he was going to make small talk, she'd oblige him.

"All summer. My aunt's a manager."

Marianne had all she could do not to frown at him. So he was a VIP. She gave him a half smile and shrugged a shoulder. She supposed he got his passes and his stay entirely free. "Well that sounds fun," she winked at him, "I bet you get to see all sorts of good stuff, huh?"

He shrugged, taking another bite of donut. "I guess. What do you do?"

She had to stop and think. Secretary wasn't the proper title, but she hadn't exactly started field assisting. And besides, that wasn't nearly as fun to tell him-he was probably thinking she was some sort of animal trainer or something. She ignored it, wondering why this kid was up so early at...she finally wrapped her hand around the phone and pulled it out to check it, six thirty.

Oh no.

Dropping the apple, she rushed by him, towards her Camaro, which she'd parked adjacent form the petting zoo. Since no one was around, it was quiet enough to have the car in public and not worry about people getting their hands all over it. Tossing her purse through the open window, she practically flew into the car, slammed the keys in the ignition, and jammed her foot onto the clutch. Whipping the car into first, she flew through the gears, tearing out of the resort area, leaving the poor kid in the dust.

She got to the paddock, screaming into the parking lot and slamming the brakes, kicking up a cloud of dust towards the individuals gathered around the main gate, where she'd had her interview. Rushing out of the car, she collected herself, and attempted to be casual as she ignored the looks from Briggs, Silas, and Barry. Hurrying up the steps two at a time, her legs burned, and she made it to the office door in two strides. Perspiration dotting her brow, it was slightly curbed as the breeze from her jerking open the door caressed her face. Marianne stopped in the doorway.

Owen was at his computer, poking away at the keys with an index finger, the other pointing to a file she recognized as belonging to Charlie. Having color-coded Charlie with a hot-pink highlighter for easy recognition, she noticed Charlie's lab records and I&O's out as well. Wrinkling her brow, she tossed her purse onto the windowsill's ledge and came up behind him, glancing at the computer.

"Good morning, sunshine," he chirped lightly. Never one for being a morning person, she gave him a sideways glance, her lower back aching from the sit-ups this morning. After sit-ups and push-ups at five AM, she was feeling less than ready for his perkiness. "I see you've decided to grace us with your presence today." He smiled at her. "You're late."

"I know." She said flatly.

He got up, shrugging. "I won't tell if you won't," he flipped the front page of the chart, and then flipped another. His face wrinkled as he read, and she noticed he had his jaw set. Still unshaven, he smelled of Old Spice and, surprisingly, was in a v-neck t-shirt and cargo's today instead of a vest. His knife holster, situated behind him, was traditionally (or habitually, she would have to see) situated behind him.

After reading a bit more, Marianne clearing his screen on the computer, he closed the file and tossed it onto the desk. Running his fingers through his hair, she felt him staring at her as she began to take a stack of Charlie's records from the bookcase behind her to begin entering into the computer. She opened the first one, when suddenly his hand slapped onto the front cover of it, surprising her. He steeped his fingers up, knuckles white as he leaned onto them, and he stared at her as she blinked. She got the feeling he was going to say something, but beat him to it. "Yes?"

"You can work on this later," he stood and moved towards the door, closing it slightly. Behind it, she noted, was a coat-rack; a deep cherry-wood bearing exactly three items: a rain-jacket, the helmet she'd spotted Sophie wearing, and a sharp looking rifle with a scope and sling. Grabbing the rifle, he slung it over his shoulder. Her brows rose as she recognized the weapon.

She knew it as a Marlin, maybe a 45. Her uncle, a big game hunter in Alaska, had carried one many, many years ago. He'd passed it onto her brother, a gunsmith, after he'd retired. She didn't know much about it, but she could shoot it-it was a heavy, thick rifle, and it was strong. With a strong reputation, and words of praise from her brother, she knew the rifle was a decent one, if nothing else. Being a side-arm woman herself, she never had personally owned a rifle, but she knew how to shoot them.

"Nice shooter you got there," she nodded towards it, gesturing with a hand. Own glanced over his shoulder and gave her a look that read "like-you-even-know". She quirked a brow at her and stepped outside, waving her to follow. She obeyed, feeling like a dog, and closed the door behind her. "45-70?"

He had grabbed the railing to the catwalk leading out into the middle of the pen when he stopped and snapped his head up to look at her. Squinting against the sun, he gave her a crooked smile. "Yeah. You know it?"

She nodded. "My brother's a gunsmith. He has the exact same thing, only in black." She stopped at the beginning of the catwalk, unsure. She glanced into the paddock where she saw the tip of a retile-like tail dash into the foliage, rustling it and ending its cycle of serenity. Her heart pitched when she saw it.

"Well, then I guess you're just up on everything, aren't you?" He chuckled, "You always this full of surprises? Or should I watch out?"

Marianne shrugged, grinning at him. "That depends," he crossed the walkway and she followed towards the other side. Another set of stairs led downward, and he tromped down them. "Do you like surprises?" Her voice echoed off the walls surrounding the steps, and he opened up the door with a key from his pocket.

"Depends on the surprise," he quirked a brow, giving her a playful look. "Alright. This is where we keep the meds." He entered inside, flicked on the lights, and passed by a lab table, plucking up a clipboard as he passed. Holding it over his shoulder, he stopped at a shelf and reached high, plucking a white box from the top shelf. She hurried to accept the board. Glancing at it, she found it to be a lab report, one for the week. She glanced up at him, then felt her left pocket for a pen. Nadda. Glancing up at him, she found one nestled in the pocket of his v-neck shirt. Stepping towards him, she reached across his chest for the pen and plucked it, clicked it, and began scribbling the date.

"How do you know what surprises to like or don't like?" She furthered the conversation, giving it thought as she referenced the report from last week, filling in basic information about-Delta, she noticed. Birth year? Four years ago, 2011. Marianne scribbled in that she was the second sibling next to Blue. "I mean, that makes no sense." Species? She shortened it to Raptor.

"Well, one of my many charms," he snatched the pen from her when she'd stopped writing and scribbled on the box. She gave him an unimpressed look. "Hey. I'm a mysterious guy."

"So are half the men in the rest of the world." She challenged good-naturedly.

He handed the pen back, giving her an amused look. "What about the other half?"

She shrugged, following him out of the room and flicking the lights off as they left. Following him back up the steps, daylight struck her eyes as it glinted off the Marlin. "Just stupid I guess."

He snorted, "A pretty biased opinion, coming from a woman."

He led her back into the middle of the catwalk. "Men can't be left to judge themselves. There'd be no room left for women with all their ego." She grinned at him, cheekily. "Okay, so, what are we doing?"

"Medicating." He reached inside of the metal pale hooked on the outside of the railing, grabbing a white, dead rat. She wrinkled her brow, frowned, and watched as he lifted open the mouth with a fingertip and dropped the pill into the rodent's mouth. He gave her a slick look, tossed the rat over the side, and it hit the ground a few seconds later. Owen turned on his heel and began marching from the cat-walk. "Ok. Done."

"That's it?"

He stopped, her abruptly pulling up. Whirling around, he chuckled. "What? You want me to let her eat it out of my hand?"

She charted, copying the other reports, and followed him down the steps. "How do you know Delta will be the one to eat it?" She asked, slowly descending, not looking up from the chart. Owen, already at the bottom, swung himself around the corner and called after her.

"Because she's the only in there at the moment! C'mon, it's time for a skin check, and you won't want to miss it."

. . .

"What happened?" Claire rushed into the medical bay, out of breath and white chaffon shirt dripping with sweat between her shoulder blades. Her shoulders were raw from her bra strap rubbing continually, and she cursed herself for wearing long-sleeves in the humidity. Brushing aside a pasted-to-her-skin section of hair, her cell phone at hand, her heels clicking the floor of the sterile-looking medical bay as she entered. Frowning at the doctor and two nurses gathered around the man lying on the medical table, she stopped at the foot.

Bile rising into her mouth, she had to take a step back, raising a hand to cover her mouth. Looking away, her breath hitched, and she began to gag. Swallowing the reflex after getting her bearings a few moments later, she felt the wave of nausea leave and felt the dread make itself at home in her gut. A lawsuit. A big, fat, ugly lawsuit almost as ugly as the situation. Slowly peering around, the doctor glanced her way.

"Ah, Miss Dearing, finally able to manage the sight I see," the South African doctor, a sandy-haired man of 37, removed the mask from his face, staining it due to bloody gloves. Claire knew him as Jake Coborn, a handsome, strapping man overpaid and in high demand from half the hospitals on the globe. She'd gotten him here over a glass of wine, a quick bite to eat, and a fat salary of three hundred thousand a year. "Welcome. Please, please, have a look. Seems your... _attractions_ have an eye for...well, to put it ironically, eyes." He waved her forward, discarding the gloves.

The unconscious man on the table, under the nurses' gentle eye, looked like something out of a Frankenstein movie. Claire gasped, putting a shaky hand to her mouth. What was left of his ragged flesh, hanging in ribbons, was not much: the entire left side of his face was skin-less, a gaping hole where his cheek had been proudly sported his jaw-bone, where she could count his entire set of teeth. Also missing too was the eye, and she had to spin away and dash for the sink, vomiting what was left of her croissant breakfast sandwich. Jake came up beside her and watched her clean up, giving her that all familiar look of sympathy and disgust. She wiped the side of her mouth and staggered backward, one hand on the counter and faced him. The monitor, signaling the man's vitals, beeped calmly behind them, rhythmically. "Oh god."

"Yes, oh God indeed, Claire. That man is blind and will most likely die of infection. The wounds have completely incinerated his nerve endings and he will never be able to open his mouth again," he frowned at her, pointing at the man's body, "He'll have to be fed through an IV or a GT tube. He's essentially dead. I don't know if he can even recover," he looked away from her. "Psychologically or physically."

She, swallowing, shook her head and raised a hand at him, passing by, "I don't need this now, Jake," she quick-dialed Vivian, "I _just_ signed an endorsement from-"

"-was it worth your millions of dollars, Claire?" He spat at her, thrusting a finger at the man. The nurse jumped when his decibel rose. Claire jerked back a few steps as his face contorted out of rage, "-was that _beast_ worth this man's life? His family's agony? I hope you got plenty of money, Claire Dearing, because the lawsuit on this man will be magnificent!"

"Don't speak to me like that-"

"That _demon_ is _killing_ people, Claire!" He shouted. From the corner of her eye, the nurse dropped the tool she'd been using, it clattering to the floor. Claire whipped her attention to the stopping nurse and then back to Jake, who came stomping towards her. "When are you going to see that?"

"We have the situation under control." She said flatly, her eyes glazing with rage. "Corporate has already set to making plans to make the walls bigger in the following weeks-"

"Weeks? How many men will it kill before then?" He grunted, disgusted, and turned from her. He waved her off, "Leave. Tend to your legal issues. I'll let you know when I've signed his death certificate."

She growled, "He isn't dead yet-"

Jake spun around, hands gripping the side of the table, eyes cold and dark as they flashed at her. She felt her heart drop into her stomach and then her feet, almost as if she'd faint. She couldn't even look at the man. Vivian finally picked up, after Claire calling twice, but Claire hung up on her.

Jake snorted, giving her a disgusted look. "No," he looked back to the man, the other nurse taking notes in his chart. Claire backed up towards the door, tears brimming her eyes. No. She couldn't cry. People got hurt all the time here. It wasn't unusual. She had this..contained.

He looked back over his shoulder as she stumble through the door. "No, he's isn't, Claire. But he will be."


	15. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

It was around noon when Marianne left the office to step into the heat of day. The cool air-conditioned air of the building replaced with the sticky, tropical heat of the day bore down on Marianne's shoulder, almost instantly forming a trickle of sweat between her shoulder blades. Shielding her eyes, she moved to the railing, to see a brand-new Chevy pickup slowly backing towards the supply shed. She saw Silas and Briggs checking a clipboard, a man in uniform standing beside them and pointing to the paper with a pen, his back drenched in sweat. His uniform read _"Masrani Global",_ drenched thoroughly with sweat all down his back. Owen, she assumed, was preparing lunch for the animals, which were down in the observation area again.

The raptors. Marianne couldn't shake them from her mind. After spending two years with Alan being obsessed with their very history, she'd grown to adore the _thought_ of Velociraptors, much less the actual animal itself. Putting a hand on the steamy railing, she began taking the stairs down quickly, until her boots hit the earth in a cloud of dust. She walked casually around the corner to the observation area, where she found Barry, stroking the reptile-like skin of the animal whom Marianne remembered somewhat as Delta. She came up to the fence and instantly the animals bristled, snorting loudly and making hissing noises. Barry came around and smiled at her.

"Hi Barry," she said with a smile, eyes ever locked on the animals. Barry dropped his hand from Delta and approached her. Draping his fingers through the fence, he leaned against it, looking down at her gently. She understood this man, from what she could decipher, to be a gentle intellect, with experience and passion. But, Marianne couldn't shake the caution and concern in his eyes.

"Afternoon," he gave her a light grin, "What brings you down here?"

She shrugged, "Nothing. I heard Owen was doing a lunch thing and the girls were in containment so I decided to drop by." She scratched the back of her neck nervously-she'd just been down here this morning during skin check, but she couldn't help it. Her insides burned for a chance to study these animals, to see if they were all Alan had promised-if not more, now that they somewhat were capable of human interaction. Barry, not sensing her embarrassment and childlike curiosity, shifted his feet.

"Owen went into the resort to get Sophie," he retorted, "They're going swimming." He said this as if he regretted it, or as if it were a common occurrence. She suddenly felt like a moron for asking. Her brows rose in surprise.

"Swimming?"

He nodded, then tossed his hands into the air. 'Don't ask me. You going to lunch?" He asked her, taking a few steps back from the fence, only to turn around slowly to face Charlie, who was directly in front of where Marianne was standing, in her containment unit. Her frantic and piercing eyes didn't leave Marianne, her mouth partially open, hissing and on the verge of what Marianne hoped wasn't a scream. She nodded to answer Barry's question.

 _More like going to kill myself in suicide runs,_ she told herself, "Yeah. I'll be gone about an hour. Owen has some papers that need his signature before going into the lab, so if he gets back before me, can you have him sign them?" She fished her ID and then her keys out of her pocket, circling them around her finger. Her legs wobbled slightly at the thought of more runs, but she knew she had to do them. In this heat it would be miserable, but manageable. She'd just have to tough it out.

Barry nodded, grinning at her and giving her a playful salute. "Will do. Have a good lunch."

Her stomach rumbled at the thought, "Yep. You too."

He laughed, "Ha. Don't I wish. See ya later."

Barry then returned to his work, Marianne coming around to walk briskly towards her car. Sliding into the driver's seat, she headed towards the spot where she'd marked the tree, and parked her car slightly in the downed grass of the ditch, where she assumed she'd parked yesterday. Quickly changing, she laced her shoes tight and stretched out her arms and legs, puffing out a breathe. Then, exhaling a puff, she bolted towards the marked tree, sweat already forming on her brow.

. . .

"You didn't _ask_ her?"

After their conversation that morning during med rounds, Owen Grady got the feeling that Marianne hadn't been all too impressed with his demeanor, much less his opinion. The disgruntled look on his niece's face told him he'd been right from the get-go: this young lady was trying, and failing, to hook him up with his new field assistant. He rolled his eyes and gave a firm nod, then reached an arm out to part a fern from their path within the jungle foliage.

'No, I didn't. I was busy." _Liar._ He didn't want to tell her they hadn't exactly hit it off, from what he could tell. He liked to think of himself as cavalier with the ladies, but he could tell Marianne wasn't having any of his stunts, nor his charm. Which was fine, since she wasn't exactly his type. He wasn't looking anyway, at least not right now- _especially_ after Claire's stunt the night before. Sophie scrambled over a fallen log to catch up to him, and he slowed his stride.

"Don't lie," she said condescendingly, "You didn't ask her because you don't like her that much."

"Sophie. It's not that I don't-"

"-she's not pretty enough for you, is she?"

The statement hit him smack dab between the eyes, causing the raptor specialist to pull up suddenly. His eyes locked on his niece, who was stepping ahead of him around foliage and vines and leaves, not a care in the world. She didn't seem to notice she'd just wounded his pride, much less offended his character. Then again, she was eight years old. She probably didn't realize a lot of things.

"Soph!" He hurried after her, disgruntled and less than satisfied with her ending statement, "Why would you say something like that?" He stepped over a tall log, then swung around to lift her over it. Mosquitoes buzzed around their ears, as did flies and other bugs. He was hoping they were coming to the earthy-pool soon, and that he hadn't missed it. It'd been awhile since he'd been to the mineral water pool-not since he'd taken Claire-so he was wondering if he'd missed it. Sophie didn't answer him. "Sophie." He reached for her arm.

She bucked forward, tripping over a log, but he lunged for her arm and wrapped a strong, rough hand around it. The girl stabilized, and she looked up to him. "She just doesn't seem like the type of girl you'd date."

"Says who?" He quirked his brow, mustache slick with sweat. Actually, he was sweating all over, and he didn't remember it being that incredibly hot.

"Mom," she chirped. In that moment, he deflated, shoulders shrugging forward. She continued walking, and changed the subject. "You sure you know where you're going?"

Owen didn't answer her.

Leave it to his sister to tell his niece about his type! It wasn't like she'd married a gem; a divorce lawyer of all men to choose from, who'd divorced her less than ten years into their marriage. _But,_ his sister did know him pretty well-she'd called most of his dates out before he'd even taken them out the door to his Mustang. Come to think of it, his sister knew him pretty well: she'd known he'd love the navy, graduate on a C average, and end up alone at the age of thirty because he'd be "too good to settle down".

Well, at thirty-six, he was still single.

Not that the idea of marriage appalled him. Swerving slightly to the left and signaling Sophie to do so, he saw the stream up a head that he recognized. He didn't remember marking a tree with a tie, but maybe Claire had.

It was just that he'd never found a stable enough woman to settle down with. They either wanted to move far too fast for his blood or go so slow he'd die of old age. Yes; Owen wanted a stable, smart, steady woman with her head screwed on straight who was loyal and humble, but with fire and a passion for life. He liked women who got their hands dirty and who challenged him, who made him think about jumping the gun but be curious and weary enough to think twice about it; who would let her hair down at nights and not care what it looked like A girl who would work on his bike with him and not care about the oil and grease. Who wouldn't think twice about counting stars for a night out instead of living it up at a party. Who wouldn't be afraid to tell him anything.

Who would drink tequila with salt _and_ a lemon and not think twice.

Owen suddenly realized the kind of woman he was looking for was one in two million. No, make it five million.

The though made his heart pound and agonize. He'd never find her stuck on this island. Not that he cared, being on this island-it was paradise. He had a dream job in a dream location. He got paid way more than he needed, and worked with great guys. He didn't really need anything else in his life. The women on this island were either control Jezebel's or egotistical doctor's, or technology buffs. Not anything he was overly interested in.

He pulled up short when he saw the pool, canopied under jungle fronds and treetops. Animals didn't come to this pool since it was mineral water, and bugs didn't hang around too much. Sophie, overly excited, quickly slipped off her sneakers and tied her hair up into a crooked ponytail, then didn't hesitate to head for the shoreline. She barreled into the water as if she'd never seen water before in her life. Her bubbling laughter was youthful and innocent, and it brought back floods of memories from his childhood with his sister. He didn't waste time: he hobbled out of his boots, shrugged out of his vest, and tossed his knife holster ontop the pile of clothes accumulated in the foliage of the jungle floor. He untucked his shirt, messed his hair, and grinned at his niece, who was treading water extremely well. Something in his heart sank. He hadn't taught her how to swim.

Quickly shoving it aside, he gave her a fiercely playful look and crouched low on his haunches, as if he were an Olympic runner prepping for the gunshot. "Ok, you ready? It's gunna be a huge splash!" She nodded furiously, wet curls hanging and dripping in her face. She scooted back a few feet in the water and waited for him.

"Go, go!" She screeched loudly, her eyes sparkling.

He took off, pushed himself off the ground and went soaring for the water.

This was perhaps the best date he'd ever had.

. . .

She couldn't do any more runs.

Falling against the driver's side door, dripping sweat, Marianne struggled to catch her breath. Her lungs, racked with exhaustion, quivered for air in her chest, her heart shaking as if it were plagued with an earthquake. Her knees throbbed, and the stitch in her side had returned with a vengeance. She looked down at herself, laid a hand over her stomach, and closed her eyes as her head dropped to the car.

Sitting in silence was like blissful peace. She listened to the sound of the jungle as nature around her took its course, as if laughing at her for her efforts. She cursed her genes and her lack of stamina, and took in the sounds of birds squawking in the trees. A howler monkey screeched somewhere in the distance. Inhaling a breathe, she smelled rain and jungle. She heard the flapping of wings, rustling of leaves against the breeze, and-

-laughter. _Human_ laughter.

Wrinkling her brow, Marianne straightened. She looked down the ditch for any signs of human life, but found only the stillness which surrounded her. The hot air was thick and the sun shining greatly, but she was far too concerned with what she'd heard to care. Stepping into the tall grass of the ditch, she made her way to the edge of the jungle and peered inside, leaning forward. \

Was she going insane?

It was highly possible. She felt dehydrated, as well as exhausted, so she wasn't leaving anything in the impossible category. Again, Marianne heard the laughter bubbling from within the branches and leaves, among the trees and bushes and darkness of the jungle. Her curiosity piqued, she wondered if she should go in there and investigate.

Could it be possible for jungle mirages? Like the one's in deserts?

Furrowing her brow, she huffed and put her hands on her hips, the laughter continually floating on the wind like a taunting, tempting delicacy. There were two sets, she realized, one sounding like male laughter and the other female, from what she could decipher. They couldn't be far into the jungle, because she heard them. Shaking her head, she trekked back up to the Camaro and reached inside for her cell. No messages, she still had twenty minutes left of break. Biting her lower lip, sweat pasting her curls to her face, she shrugged a shoulder and stuffed the phone into the pockets of her workout shorts. Stretching her neck, she grabbed the Beretta holster, checked the magazine, and then slung the KA-BAR strap over her shoulder lazily.

Ten minutes. If she didn't find anything in ten minutes, she'd make her way back and head back to the paddock.

Reaching the edge of the jungle, she passed the border, and cast a look back to the Camaro. It would be fine, she told herself-who was going to steal it? Stepping over a front and feeling the dewy leaf slide against her thigh, she entered the heated mugginess of the canopy.

The laughter was coming from the east, so she headed in that direction. Marianne moved quickly, but quietly, Beretta poised. She didn't want to encounter anything on this island she couldn't outwit or outgun, suddenly reminding herself the dinosaurs were all contained, and realizing it was her second day and she hadn't even seen any of them besides the raptor's. Rolling her eyes at herself, her running shoe sloshed in a dirty puddle on the floor, soaking her soak and the inside of her shoe. Ignoring it, she moved forward, dodging vines and moving ferns with her arms. The insects were amazing in here-when she wasn't focusing on her surroundings she was batting away bugs the size of houses.

Marianne walked for what she assumed was a half mile, until she stopped and saw a small clearing across a creek. Wrinkling her brow, she wondered if it were inhabited by monkeys, because she was focused on swinging vine, vacant, but in motion. She tipped her head to the side and moved towards it, tightening her grip on the Beretta. Her heart hammered with a mixture of uncertainty and excitement, blood pulsating through her ears like a generator fueling her on. Adrenaline had all but taken over, and Marianne stepped into the creek, the cool water soothing her ankles and the small cuts on her legs from the foliage.

Her blood felt three feet thick, her skin dotted with a sparkling sheet of perspiration. Sun tried to fight the canopy of tree leaves above her, but lost, and she suddenly missed its bright shine on her skin. Mosquitoes attacked her arms as if it were a war zone. She swatted them away as she came closer to the slowing vine. She froze when the laughter, so clear now, was only a few feet to her left.

Bursting in surprise, she hurried towards a patch of ferns and lowered herself into them, hoping there wasn't any wildlife around. It hadn't occurred to her these people may want left alone or were runaways, or other dangerous people. Her breathing shallowed and she moved aside the ferns with the barrel of the gun, inching forward on her haunches. Her legs burned and Marianne thought her clothes were going to melt off of her body. She wondered if by chance she could call Owen and ask him if this was a common thing.

She fished the phone from her pocket, unlocked it, and sent a quick text. She sent it, putting the phone back in her pocket. She couldn't see anything amidst the ferns and trees, only a dotting of teal-colored water. She'd only seen that type of pool once or twice, and she recognized the smell as mineral water. She swallowed, a trail burning down her throat.

Then, she heard a ding.

It was a cell phone notification, and it was close.

Looking down as if it were in front of her, she froze. Marianne saw the illuminated screen of an IPhone. Her stomach flopped like a dead fish. More giggles, then male laughter, and then a male voice. Her entire body went still, and she closed her eyes, realizing her error. The splashes of water made it hard to decipher voices and what they were saying, but it was mixed in with laughter and an overall sign of people having fun. Marianne suddenly got the sinking feeling she'd been spying on someone she shouldn't have, and she lowered farther into the fronds if it were possible.

 _Oh God,_ she said, looking towards the canopy overhead, _Please, please, please don't let this be Owen and a woman..._ Her fears were confirmed when she heard a splashing of water, and then drips falling to the floor. Her heart exploded and seized in her chest, and her legs wobbled out of concern.

"Hold on, Soph. Let me check this quick."

Oh no. That smooth voice that reminded her of bourbon. Marianne would've swallowed thickly, but her throat seized up and closed, mouth drying as if she'd spent a week in the Badlands without water. Sure enough, Owen Grady stopped before her patch of ferns and stooped to dry his dripping hands on his vest. She watched his hands, finding herself attracted to them, wondering what their touch would be like, when suddenly he reached for the hem of his sopping shirt and began pulling it over his head.

Her breath hitched.

He stopped mid-pull.

Closing her eyes, she cursed.

Which surprised her. She _never_ cursed.

Then, Owen stood to his full height and sure enough, he was staring at her. She looked up over her glasses at him, her sure her face was now as pale as a ghost or a glass of milk. All the courage she'd mustered up for this event evaporated, and she noticed he was smiling at her with a cocky, smirky half-smile. She gave him a weak lift of the corner of her lips, and he parted the fronts. She suddenly felt exposed in her exercise clothes, but she couldn't really do anything about it now, could she?

 _You stupid, stupid girl!_ Why did he have to look like that?

"Well hello Marianne."

She lifted her brows as if she were surprised to see him, and he extended a hand to help her up. She took it, and he pulled her effortlessly to her feet. She brushed off her legs, Beretta still at hand, and she felt his hot stare on her weapon. She looked to it and then to him, nervousness taking hold of her confidence. She felt like a kid again, caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

He gestured to it, "Were you gunna shoot me or something?"

"I heard voices," she countered quickly, not appreciating his stare. Marianne moved by him, then surveyed the area. The clearing was indeed a mineral pool, with downed foliage and rocks positioned around as if it were a pool area instead of a jungle. She instantly recognized Sophie scrambling out of the water, dripping wet with a huge grin, and she smiled at the little girl as she hurried up to her, wet and smelling terrifically of jungle, minerals, and...peaches.

"Marianne!" the girl exclaimed, "You came!"

Marianne put on a fake, slightly confused face, "I did?" she glanced at Owen, moving the gun behind her back with a hand and crouching to see the girl. He nodded quickly, hardly noticeable, as if to signal her to answer more confidently, "I mean, of course I came. What're you up to?"

"We were having a breath-holding contest!" Sophie giggled, water gathering in a puddle at her feet. She pointed to the water, "I was winning. I had thirty seconds!"

Marianne looked up at Owen, who was wringing out the hem of his shirt. She couldn't help but notice the wet material clinging to his firm, rippling muscle. It made her mouth dry like cotton. She looked back to the little girl. "That's great."

"How long can you hold your breath?" Her question hung like a wet towel in the air. Marianne got the sense that Owen wasn't comfortable with her presence, but then again, she didn't really care what he thought. She stood, shrugged, and moved towards the pile of clothes and took off her socks, then stooping to nestle the gun and knife-sling under Owen's vest. She guessed Sophie was used of knives since Owen carried one of his own.

"I'm not sure," She stuffed her sweaty socks into her shoes, "But I could beat my brother when I was a teenager." She smiled at Owen, who gave her a goofy grin, and she approached the water-side with Sophie, who was staring at it as if it were a pot of gold instead of a pool of water. Marianne then nudged the girl's arm, realizing how much she liked this kid already. "I bet I can beat you," She then looked over at Owen, " _and_ your Uncle."

Sophie giggled and shook her head, beadlets of water slapping Marianne in the face and soothing the redness of her embarrassment, as well as the heat of her skin. "Nu uh. Uncle Owen was in the _Navy_. They have to be good at swimming, you know."

Marianne's brows rose. A Navy man? _Figures._ He looked the part. Could the attraction get any greater? "The Navy, huh? Well." She turned on her bare heels, then sauntered towards him and thrust a finger into his chest. He stared down at it for a moment and then drew his attention to her, and she plastered a smug look on her face. Narrowing her eyes at him, she couldn't help but giggle. "Then I _dare_ you to beat me in a breath-holding challenge." Sophie inhaled sharply, excitedly, at this behind them. "You have no choice, being in the Navy and all."

He snorted. "Bad idea," he shook his head and put his arms up in surrender, "I'm afraid my skill is a bit advanced in that particular challenge. There's no match. I'm too amazing." By his tone, she could tell he was only kidding, but the flash in his eye told her he was up to challenge her, he wanted it. It startled her the playfulness in his voice, but she found she liked it when he raised his brows and smiled at her, thrusting a finger into her chest back, "I wouldn't want to hurt your feelings or anything, Marianne."

She gave him a look, and cocked her hip, placing her hand on it to give him an equally intimidating, and unafraid, look. With the other, Marianne pushed aside his finger, "Well, we'll see about that," she turned on her heel and moved past Sophie. Glancing over her shoulder, she winked at him, "After all, I'm full of surprises, remember?"

Then, she dived into the water, hoping to soothe the redness blossoming on her face.


	16. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

 _Four Weeks Later_

"Good night, Owen," Marianne flopped the tan-colored wide-brimmed hat back onto her head, probably destroying what was left of her wild curls from a hot, muggy day's work outside. Exhausted, and in dire need of a drink, she'd opted for a night in the resort and in Margaritaville instead of sitting home browsing Netflix-again. "You thinking six tomorrow to round the new meds or earlier than that?"

Owen paused the winding of a rope around his arm to cast a look at her, standing in the middle of the staircase, backpack draped over her shoulder. She fidgeted with a loose curl which had fallen out of her hat, and licked at her lower lip, where beaded sweat had made itself more than welcome on her skin. A recent sunburn, which had been blazing hot the day before, was peeling, making her somewhat self conscious. He nodded slowly, returning to winding the rope around his arm, the back of his shirt wet with sweat and his mustache slick. "Well, I think it'll be fine-Delta's pretty good about new meds, as long as we give 'em the regular way. I think six is ok." The corner of his lips lifted in a smile, and he tossed a wink at her, "Or, if you're _dying_ to come in earlier than that, I can find stuff to do."

She rolled her eyes, puffing out a breathe. "Don't you wish." Tromping down the rest of the steps in her heavy hiking boots, she reached up and clapped a hand on his shoulder and patted it, kicking a stone with the foot of her boot as she sashayed past him, "See you tomorrow. Sleep well."

"Yep. See ya later," he called after her as she dug her keys from her pocket, "Sweet dreams, Annie." He said lightly after her. She stopped, simultaneously rolling her eyes as she spun around to face him. Giving him an annoyed look, she scoffed.

 _Oh they'll be sweet alright._ "Good night, Owen."

He beamed. "Night, Annie."

Narrowing her eyes at him, she started back for the car. Popping open the door and tossing her backpack inside, she watched him work under the floodlights a few moments, replacing the rope in the storage shed and crossing the yard without a care in the world. Marianne started the car and pumped the engine, him spinning around and grinning at her like a schoolboy, before waving her off. She couldn't contain a smile and flicked the lights on, shifting out of park, and peeling out towards the resort-just to make him angry.

The last four weeks had went decently, smoothly. Marianne had spent a lot of the four weeks in the field with Owen, doing routine skin checks and food journals and inventory, as well as documenting an entire veterinary call that happened once every few months spontaneously. The computer work she'd promised Owen had gotten done her first week, winning over the crew in short order, sooner than she'd anticipated. Actually, she'd gotten to know the crew somewhat well-Briggs, Silas, and Barry-and as far as she could tell, had established her place among them strongly.

Her attraction at Owen had dimmed somewhat as she found him to be a fun type of guy-immature, but fun nonetheless. He took pride in his job and found any and every way to make it fun. A good teacher, she'd enjoyed his explanations and his teaching. It was easy to learn with someone willing to take the time to understand and work hands on with, and it was interesting to see his development as they went along-Marianne got the notion he was learning just as much as she was. He picked on her and egged her on, as well as antagonized the living daylights out of her over their workdays-and when he wasn't, Owen was continually challenging her and pushing her to do better, to think quicker, to move stronger. And, when he wasn't playing teacher, she got to show him a few things here and there about his office and how to understand what he was writing. It was a mutual understanding they shared, and she'd enjoyed the time to get to know him. For the most part, she felt comfortable around him, like an equal, and like they were moving on as friends-not as much as acquaintances as they both opened up.

Overall, Jurassic World wasn't bad. Paddock Six (or, as they had deemed it, the Pit), was secluded from the main area of the park-intricate, and built for research and development of the Raptors more than an attraction. Marianne had taken her time to get to know the resort and it's people-as well as its schedule, which was almost as grueling as the layout. Just as she had spent her time in Snakewater and the Badlands with Alan, she'd learned the atmosphere and acclimated to it, understood it, and became part of it. She'd integrated and, she would admit, it wasn't bad.

What she really couldn't stand though was the control aspect-these people had no care in the world what they were doing. From what she could tell, is they either disregarded, ignored, or simply were unaware of the fact that this place-this "park"-was not a park at all. It was a living, breathing time-bomb, like Alan had said once in a lecture at Yale University: it was only a matter of time before everything went south, and the screams replaced the laughter. Marianne had realized her first week, after walking around on eggshells and eyeballing the security as she passed by the Mosasaur paddock, that these people _really_ had no idea. Literally everything around her was alive, and progressing, and learning. It wouldn't take long for the T-Rex to realize where its food was coming from-or that it was _bigger_ than where it's food came from. It wouldn't take long for that swimming nightmare attraction-Mosasaurs-to realize that little podium Kathy, the announcer, stood on was made of cement and would snap without an effort. And likewise-it wouldn't take long for everything in this place to shut down and go to hell in a hand-basket. It had happened with John Hammond, and it could happen here.

But, Marianne had learned quickly to keep those thoughts to herself, as in the wrong crowd they struck nerves and tended to bring out the bad side of employees. So, she'd reserved her thoughts and quietly listened on her days in the resort, when she had Owen had to run reports with ACU and Claire Dearing. Listening had actually gained her a lot of knowledge and know-how, as well as information which she could draw her conclusions, arguments, and suspicions from.

The latest being the I-Rex, or better known around the staff garden as the "Indominus". Rumored, she'd guessed, at being almost fifty feet long by maturity and having the intelligence that would match the Raptors, it was almost hard to believe it could actually exist. Marianne understood it as Jurassic World's first genetically modified hybrid, designed and bred by none other than Henry Wu, famed geneticist and scientist of Jurassic Park. Not yet ready to be presented to the public, it was in talks to have a safety session addressing new additions to the park sometime this week. Marianne had asked Owen if they'd ever had them before, and he'd nonchalantly replied that they only did when something was really big, really dangerous, and really expensive. Which had piqued her curiosity all the more, and sent warning bells through her head.

Genetically modifying _dinosaurs_? What more could they think up? Marianne couldn't imagine anything greater than seeing real, living dinosaurs-she was in awe as she looked up at the Brachiosaurus and watched the graceful grazing of Triceratops in the Valley. All of it was a mess of nature, science, and chaos-as well as pride and greed, and perhaps vision tossed in their somewhere. It reeked of man's inability to be satisfied, and mystified, as well as their satiation for control. It wasn't good enough that science and humanity had done this once and achieved success, no. _Now_ we had to drag genetics and modifications and really push the maximum this time. Blur the lines a little more. Take the chance just a bit farther. It made her stomach sour with rage, flip with curiosity, and sink with terror.

She was beginning to wonder if Alan had been right.

. . .

"But I'm _bored_ , Zach."

Zach rolled his eyes and set his phone on his lap the next morning, feeling the radiating heat of the day burn away at his skin. Already as tan as he could imagine himself getting, this was the third day they'd spent at the waterpark off the resort. Gray, always a fan of swimming, had gotten bored yesterday, but Zach had convinced him off finishing off the day to get a complete and even tan. Now, he guessed, he'd never hear the end of it.

Watching the water cascade down into broiling waves and pools, he envied the children and adults and families having a good time here. The two of them had been here four weeks and had seen Claire a handful of times-never really succeeding to do anything besides eat meals and talk about plans. She'd visited one attraction with them-the petting zoo-and had been on her phone the entire time. Zach thought she was a drag while Gray couldn't get enough of her.

Which was probably fine. He needed someone to latch onto these days besides him. Gray had mentioned to Zach on more than one occasion that he was worried about their parents getting a divorce and their family splitting up. Zach, unsure how to process such feelings from his brother, had tried to play it cool and uninformed by pretending Gray was watching too much TV or listening to too many of his friends at school, insisting their family was fine-when in reality, it wasn't.

Zach knew the signs, hadn't been stupid these past few years. His parents' marriage _was_ failing, and he had a feeling it had a lot to do with Gray. Not that he was a bad kid, no; but by the fact that they were separated by quite a few years. Gray had been unexpected and unplanned in his mother's mad world of control and stability and future organization-Gray's birth had almost sent her into a mental breakdown. Zach knew his family struggled with OCD and control, sure; but he hadn't expected it to reek this much havoc on his life. He wasn't sure how to feel or how to respond, as his parents tried to get him to mediate and be the middleman of their failing, messy marriage. He hated the idea of turning the one against the other, and vice versa, but what was he to do? He was sixteen-not even licensed to drive, much less qualified to keep his family together.

Gray begged on his arm, "Zach, come _on._ Let's do something fun! Like, like go into the Innovation Center and do some research, maybe go up to the labs? Aunt Claire said we could if we went with Zar."

Zar. The assistant. She'd been as useless and unengaging as Claire was. Paid exorbitant amounts probably just to do nothing but watch them, she had the personality of a drowned rat and the capability of a mud fence. Addicted to her phone and with nothing other to talk about than her engagement plans-to Jacques, a French pilot-she strutted around in Vera heels and an outfit so unpractical it made an Ommpaloompa look put together. He couldn't stand the idea of being drug through another day with her.

Zach let his fall back onto the plastic beach chair, the material rubbing against the bare skin of his back. Really all he found enjoyable would be to sleep in his bed upstairs, but he knew that was impossible. He gave his brother a look and sighed. Maybe if they went into the Valley in the Gyrosphere's it'd keep the kid occupied.

But, the look on Gray's face told him it wouldn't cut it. It would have to be something amazing, something to keep him entertained. He closed his eyes and thought for a minute, trying to think of anything that would keep Gray occupied for a few hours. The phone on his lap jingled and he noticed it was his girlfriend, Riley. He groaned.

"Hold on a second," he grumbled to Gray, moving some of the hair out of his eyes, "it's Ri-"

"Your stupid girlfriend," Gray mumbled, crossing his arms and plopping down into a soggy heap on the beach chair. He brought his legs up under him Indian style and frowned at his brother. "You've spent more time talking to her than you have to me."

He huffed, texting rapidly, not believing he was having this conversation with a nine year old. "Don't be stupid. I have not-"

"Gray, Zach!"

Both of them look up across the kid's pool, where a figure in lime-green and white was waving at them dramatically, red hair striking against a sea of turquoise water. It was Claire, and she was stepping carefully around water spots, dodging exuberant children running in wet swimsuits, a look of disgust, distain, and horror on her face. She approached then wedge shoes, phone at hand, sunglasses on top of her head. He thought she looked ridiculous.

Shielding his eyes from the sun, he looked up at her. "Aunt Claire,"

Gray said nothing, just glared at him.

"Hello boys," she looked between them, that sick-and fake-tone in her voice, "I was wondering if you'd be able to help me with something."

Zach shrugged a shoulder, pulling out the earphone he had in his right ear. He swung his legs over the side of the chair and stood, stretching out his back. Gray sat, folded like a wet towel, glaring at him and staring with a frown at their Aunt. Feeling nothing like helping, he forced himself to be a good nephew, "Sure, Aunt Claire. Whaddya need?"

She smiled at him. "Marvelous." She gave them a weak smile. Claire turned on her heels, perfectly trimmed hair swishing around her shoulders. Moving around Gray's chair, she motioned with her hands at all their things and gave another weak, somewhat pathetic, smile. "Once you two get cleaned up, come find me at the Center for dinner," she referred to the Samsung Innovation building, "There's a veterinarian team going out to a very special part of the park tomorrow, and I'd like you to tag along wtih me. Of course, we'll have to talk about the precautions and everything over supper, but I thought you two might be interested." She then pointed a finger at Gray and made a fake-serious face, "Very VIP and on the down-low. You guys _are_ interested-" She looked down at Gray, "-right?"

The kid was nothing if not excited beyond belief. He looked as if he'd pee his pants at that moment. He quickly gathered up his towel and that ridiculous pouch, nodding his wet head as if he were incapable of saying anything else. Zach set to getting his things in order slowly, Claire watching them carefully, until she responded, "Great. I'll be there tonight." She wiggled her fingers at them in a good-bye wave, "Bye!"

She then left as quickly as she'd come.

Gray spun around, droplets of water smacking Zach in the face. He gave his brother an annoyed, disgusted look, and sighed. Glancing around the area, they began walking back towards the resort, Gray all smiles and skips. Zach felt as if he could crawl under a rock and die there. He wanted nothing more than to go home and sit with his girlfriend and ride his dirtbike. He was tired of his aunt's fake attitude and rules.

He was just sick of pretending things were under control when they weren't.


	17. Chapter Fourteen

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry I disappeared! Life has been kind of up in the air with my internship and prepping for college and all that. But, you all don't care, because you're obsessed with Marianne and Owen, so my excuses are invalid anyway. But, just note one thing before you continue: I did change my penname, from _Andromida Prime_ to _Miss Expendable_. And, also, I did publish a new story, for all you **_Expendables_** fans: "Stainless Steele". So, if you know the genre, please give it a look and a review if you feel up to it and let me know. I guess that's actually two things, but whatever. ;)

Venture on over to pinterest! I've got some lovely fan-art there from Vanessa Rowes! It's amazing stuff!

I'll be working on both these gems so don't panic. I dug myself another hole I think, but I'll be in and out of these periodically. Thanks tons for the attention and reviews, I love you guys!

* * *

 **Chapter Fourteen**

The rain came in sheets.

Marianne's booted foot sloshed deep into a gathering puddle just outside the supply shed, her fingers white on the strap of her messenger bag—which was now thoroughly soaked with water. She let the bag fall to the muddy earth around her and reached up to flip the switch to the backup generator, which required pumping the prime _twelve_ times to get the charge working. One would think in 2015 that it'd be easier than this, she told herself.

Her drenched curls hung loosely around her face, the insides of her boots and socks so entirely wet she might as well have been walking on water. It was gray outside with dark, depressive rainclouds, only briefly light and illuminated when jagged bolts of lightning struck out from behind the clouds. The thunder seemed like a continuous roar in Marianne's ear, the pouring rain and whipping wind just orchestrating it above her.

It had rained only once in the four week she'd been here, but that had been enough. Owen had said earlier this morning it would be a nasty storm today, as there was a hurricane one hundred miles out that was giving them difficulty. They'd battened down the hatches of the office and saw that the four girls were safe before setting to getting the generator's charged—just in case.

She glanced up, the swaying lightbulb above her reassuring her that there was still indeed power, and aggravating her that this incessant pumping wasn't necessary. Each lift became more difficult, until she was struggling and her shoulders were burning. The winds blew into the open door of the shed, chilling her already wet and cold skin. Rivulets of water dripped down her face and through the collar of her rainslicker, to her already sopped clothes.

The entire park was on standby. Some of the enclosures and attractions were already down—not one's too terribly concerning. The petting zoo had lost power, as had the Triceratops enclosures, but nothing too… _carnivorous_ was jeopardized. The guests were either staying in the resort or in safety shelters under the watchful eyes of the courtesy staff and resort staff, while the rest of the employees were scrambling to back up the park with generator's and emergency precautions.

Another roar of wind caught her rainslicker, chilling her soaked legs and sending her curling against the pump, squinting her eyes closed. They were supposed to start Delta's new medication regiment today and begin observation, but she doubted Owen was even concerned with that today. This weather would have them scrambling all day. Thunder pounded the sky like a brass drum, and then lightning cracked wildly just outside the shed—right into a palm tree.

It sent the frying tree sailing to the ground, right towards the shed. Marianne screamed as the tree fell towards the entrance of the shed, and she grabbed her bag and dashed to the back of the building, abandoning the charge pump. The tree crashed into the roof of the shed, destroying the architecture and hit the ground with a thud. Branches and leaves and fell in every direction, inside the shed, rain now seeping through the opening in the ceiling and wetting the supply crates.

Her heart hammered and her legs wobbled. Swallowed thickly, she fell against the back of the shed and rested her sopping head against the wall. Marianne's heart hammered in her chest like a gun pumping off rounds, sending her insides quivering and her ribs aching as she panted for breathe. She was cold, tired, and starving. She thought her legs would give way when she saw a hand grab the doorframe and swing a body around the corner, frame filling the door to the shed.

Owen. He was sopping wet, with his rifle, no rainslicker and in jeans and muddy boots. His hair was dark with water and hanging in strings along his forehead, his mustache and facial stubble dripping. His stare locked on her and she then looked to the tree, where his gaze followed hers. His eyes widened and he stepped over a branch, her slinging her bag over her shoulder. He held out an arm for her, and she stepped into his embrace.

"You alright?" He asked loudly, the rain on the tin rooftop loud and intruding. She nodded, him rubbing her coated shoulder, staring at the tree. He then took her hand and led her towards the charge, "How many did you get in?"

"Nine," she shouted, looping the strap of her bag over her shoulder. He nodded and released her hand, quickly throwing the charge three more times. They watched the fuses illuminate and he gave a firm nod, "Right on. We're set and ready to go out here," he jerked his thumb towards the weather outside, "But Claire's recruited the whole staff to maintenance the park, so we gotta go!"

She furrowed her brow, "Why?" He took her hand and they jetted out into the weather, the rain pelting their skin unmercifully. Thunder continuously rumbled overhead, and he quickly led her back towards the office, climbing the stairs heavily. He shouldered open the door, leading her inside, to where Barry and the others were all suiting up to go out. Owen ran his fingers through his hair, dispelling water droplets. "Owen. What's wrong? Why is Claire sending everyone into the park?"

She couldn't help it if her voice was nervous—she'd heard far too many of Alan's stories about that night, that horrifying night when the storm had ended everything John Hammond had worked for. It was a storm much like this one, and while she subconsciously knew this park was nothing like John Hammond's, she couldn't help but be concerned. Owen turned on to face her, brushing the drops of water off the barrel of his rifle, and shrugged a shoulder, giving her a upturn of the corner of his mouth in a smile.

"She just wants extra hands where they're needed," Silas interjected from the doorway leading into Barry's office. He zipped the rain-coat up to his chin and pulled the hood of his head. Marianne studied him as he checked the chamber on his handgun and slipped it into his waist-belt. "This happens every time there's a storm."

Her eyes widened. "The power goes off every time there's a storm?" She jutted a look to Owen, and she hoped she didn't look too surprised—or terrified. He nodded and rolled his eyes, suiting himself up in a raincoat and tossing a look to Briggs.

"Nah, Claire gets paranoid every time there's a bit 'o rain and some thunderclouds," Briggs said cheekily. This sent the group roaring into a bit of laughter and Marianne suddenly felt like an idiot. Owen disappeared into Barry's office, Marianne following him.

"Owen," she said strongly, demanding his attention. He stopped at a gray cabinet and pulled it open, revealing a supply of radio's, guns, and tranquilizers. Her brows lifted at this and he began pulling radio's and flipping them on. He handed on to her, as well as a headset. "Should I be worried about this?"

He shrugged a shoulder, "Depends. Can you do anything about it?"

Marianne situated the earpiece in her ear and gave him a confused, somewhat annoyed expression. He did the same, adjusted his earpiece, and handed her a few more radio's to give out to the guy's. "Of course I can't, but—"

"—then don't worry about it," he interjected quickly, kicking the door to the cabinet closed. He stalked out of the office and passed out his radio's, Marianne doing the same thing. They situated them in their pants and pockets, and she sighed, tying her loose curls up into a bun on top of her head. It instantly sagged with the weight of the rainwater gathered in her locks.

Finally when they were ready to go, they began filing out into the rain and heading towards their respective vehicles. Owen and Marianne were the last two in the office, and he motioned for her to go first. She obliged him.

The winds picked up as they hustled down the stairs, Marianne leading them towards a Four-door Jeep Wrangler painted silver and blue with the Jurassic World appropriated logos. Owen took the driver's seat and she climbed into the passenger's seat behind him, and he fired the car to life.

"I'm on frequency six," he jerked his head to dispel more water droplets, which flicked her skin and stained the upholstery of the car, as well as the glass. She nodded and moved her radio to the correct frequency, and he popped on the lights before taking off from the paddock. She checked the side-mirror as the disappearing paddock became tougher to see in the sheets of rain. He noticed the concern on her face. "They'll be ok, Annie."

"I'm just worried," she sighed, "They have no way to get out if something happens, and—"

He chuckled, "The last thing we need is them getting out, especially with people in the park," he winked at her, "Trust me on that one. They're gunna be just fine. They're animals."

"You don't sound concerned to me."

He wrinkled his nose, "Eh. They're tough girls. They'll be fine. Blue knows how to find shelter if no one else does. She's smart."

Marianne frowned at him. She didn't appreciate his lack of concern for _his_ animals. Marianne had been with them four weeks and already felt as if she'd been with them since birth—she loved them as if they were housedogs, though she hadn't spent much time training with them yet as she assisted Owen and continued to learn the ropes and paperwork. It hadn't mattered, for she was just as mesmerized and in love with them as she had been with Alan's work, so much so she'd wondered if she'd been in the wrong career all her life. She supposed it came with having a best friend and mentor as a palaeontologist.

They came into the resort quickly, abandoning their cars around the other vehicles outside the Center. Hustling towards the doors, they came into the Samsung building soaking and dripping water, drawing the attention of whatever guests had been caught inside during the storm. All the attractions were stopped as well as the exhibits, and it was steaming inside with heat. Marianne followed Owen through the throng of people, where she spotted Claire on the airy steps, handing out laminated assignments to wet, depressed looking employees. She was wearing gray pants and a white button up, her hair pulled into a clip.

"Uncle Owen, Marianne!" The sound of a little girl's voice bombarded the hushed whispers and chatter of the people in the building, sending Marianne and Owen both stopping and turning around. They spotted Sophie in the parting crowds, a young lady following behind her, desperately trying to keep up. Sophie stopped at them and threw her arms around Owen's midsection, snuggling him close, not caring if he was wet. "I'm glad you're here," she said into his shirt, "I was getting kinda scared."

Marianne shared a soft smile with Owen, who reached down and picked up the little girl. He grinned at her and Marianne's stomach flopped over. Though her attraction to him had simmered these four weeks, it hadn't entirely disappeared. His lack of interest in her as a woman discouraged her further, though, pressing the emotions down inside of her. "You? Scared? I can't believe it," Owen shook his head, Sophie squinting up her face as water droplets beaded on her skin, "No niece of mine is scared by a little storm."

Sophie looked at Marianne and smiled at her. Her hair was pulled into a long braid down her back, and she was in jeans and a pretty, blue and yellow tank-top what gathered at the chest and flowed down around her abdomen. Marianne touched the girls arm, "It's okay to be a _little_ scared," Marianne winked at her, "But if that scared-ness is more of concern for your Uncle, then it's ok. _Someone_ has to worry about him."

At this Owen gave her a flat look, she gave him a smirk in return. He kissed the girl's cheek and set her down and then jerked a thumb towards Claire's direction. "We gotta get to work, little bug, but I'll find you later. Maybe we can go mudding later with the supply truck or somethin'?"

She frowned, "Can't I come with you today?"

He shot a look to Marianne. She wondered why she was included in this conversation, as this wasn't her niece, nor was Owen anything to her other than a friend. She raised her brow and gave him an indifferent stare, and shrugged her shoulders, which were aching from her wet bag and pumping the charge at the paddock, "I wouldn't see why not. She can stay in the truck."

"Claire will have a cow," Owen retorted, then looked back to Sophie. He then glanced over his shoulder at Claire, who caught his stare and waved him come. He nodded and put up a finger to signal one more moment.

"Yeah, because she's never had a cow before, right?" Marianne challenged him sarcastically. He chuckled and nodded in agreement, then sighed. Owen rubbed his chin and Sophie gave him the puppy-dog eyes. He groaned and let his head fall back.

Marianne chuckled, "Oh…ouch. She pulled the puppy dog card." He shot her a look.

"She does that."

Sophie giggled, "Pleeease? I'll be good! I'll stay in the truck, Uncle Owen. Please?" The begging in her voice was staged and extremely sappy, but Marianne just giggled at her. Owen gave Sophie an unimpressed look and rolled his eyes, extending a hand for her to take. The little girl slipped her hand into his and then offered hers to Marianne.

Owen and her both froze, then shared a look. Marianne's throat parched. Both of them holding hands with Sophie would look suspicious, like they were a family, or at least together. But, Sophie looked up at her and stared into her eyes, them pleading with her to comply. Marianne hesitated and raised her hand, and Sophie slipped her into Marianne's without further wait.

He said nothing, leading them towards the stairs, where Claire was waiting with two folders marked with their names. At the sight of them her face soured and her eyes flashed, and Marianne could see the red threatening to blossom on her face. She glanced at Marianne and then handed them their folders. Clasping her hands behind her back, she opened her mouth to speak, when two voices assaulted her moment from the top of the stairs.

"Aunt Claire!" Came the first voice. Marianne and Owen and Sophie looked to see the young boy hurry down the steps, hand on the railing, frantically moving past the employees looking over their assignments on the staircase. He stopped a few steps above Claire, panting, another boy coming up behind thim—this one much older, in his teens. Both were soaking wet and shivering, but the younger boy was all smiles.

"Aunt Claire," the older boy said, "The TV's out in the room." He sighed and wrung out the hem of his sweatshirt, "Gray wanted to come out and see you and everything." He wounded unenthusiastic and depressed, and Marianne smiled at him when he glanced at her.

Claire, obviously annoyed, sighed. "That's fine. I'll find something for you both to do." She then glanced back at Owen and Marianne, "I've assigned you to help a transport team in the valley. I was supposed to go out and supervise today with the vet team, but as you can see—"

"—we wouldn't want you to ruin your nice outfit," Owen jested her, flipping open the folder. He scanned her over once and then she turned to the boys, which were obviously her nephews. Owen's hand dropped from Sophie's, Marianne still holding onto her other hand securely. Claire huffed. The boy intercepted her statement again.

"You mean we're not going on the run with you?" his voice sounded disappointed. Claire shook her head and sighed, looking annoyed and frustrated. The boy's shoulders dropped and the older one's face contorted into one of rage, disappointment, and disgust.

"I'm sorry, but I can't let you out in the storm," Claire shook her head, "You'll have to stay inside today. When there's another transport, I'll let you come with me." She shooed them away, "Why don't you two find something to eat in the cafeteria and It'll catch up with you once I'm done here, alright?"

They rolled their eyes, trudging down the rest of the steps and saying nothing. Owen and Marianne watched them go, shared a brief look, and then turned back to Claire. Sophie said nothing, just watched the two boys go. Her gaze was locked on the younger boy, and Marianne had to suppress a smile. "You're nephews?" Owen said, his tone dripping with face surprise, "Really, Claire. You should've told me."

"And why would I do that?" She spouted off, "The transport is waiting in the valley for another team to assist with documentation," she looked to Marianne, "and another set of hands," her eyes shifted over to Owen. "The regular lab techs that go out are busy with backing up the system and getting generator's online for the incubation chambers, so they can't." She then glanced down at Sophie, then back to Owen, "I thought it would be a good assignment for you."

"Yeah," Owen said sarcastically, "Good and wet."

"Don't be such a baby," Claire turned from them, "I want a copy of your reports on my desk by tomorrow morning. There's a truck that will take you out to the Valley, we don't want any of the newer vehicles out in the weather, especially with the animals so restless." She began heading up the stairs, pulling her cell phone from her pocket, "I'm sure you understand," her eyes locked to Marianne.

Marianne nodded and gave a grim smile. She waved and turned, hand still in Sophie's, and stalked towards the entrance, Owen following behind. Of all the assignment's Claire could've given them, she gave them the wettest, muckiest, suckiest job of them all. "God, I'm really beginning to hate that woman."

"I think the feeling's mutual," Owen's nose was still stuck in the file. They stopped at the door, watching the wind whip foliage across the courtyard and steps, rain pelting the cobblestones and sides of the buildings. The thunder got louder, lightning flashed, and Marianne's shoulders shrugged. Owen sighed and extended a hand to Sophie. "Ready for this?"

"If I have to be," Marianne grumbled.

He chuckled, "Could be worse, you know," He shouldered open the door. The rain assaulted them and he bolted for the truck parked across the courtyard, under a thick palm tree, pointed towards the maintenance road. Marianne followed behind him and Sophie, rain rewetting her body and causing a chill to streak through her body. Sophie was soaked and already in the truck before Marianne replied. Lightning cascaded across the sky, the thunder roared, and Marianne pulled open the squeaky door of the rusty, '90's Ford F-150. Owen slipped into the driver's seat and she plopped into the passenger's seat.

He tried the keys. They didn't budge. He looked at her.

"Couldn't be worse, huh?"


	18. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

Owen was torn between laughing at Marianne Randal and growling at her.

The rain pelting the roof of the dilapidated Ford above them mirrored the thunking of his own heart, in step with the breaths he was taking. Water slowly dripped from the ends of his hair and onto his face, snaking down his back and wetting the seat of the truck. His wet hands hand already did a number on the steering wheel, where the vinyl was already beginning to crack from sitting in the blistering heat and sun.

The windows began to fog, their breathing all out of sync—Sophie's rapid, Marianne's steady, his strong. He stared at her a second before looking at the keys, feeling laughter bubbling in his chest, along with a flurry of other emotions: confusion, uncertainty, enjoyment, sarcasm. He wasn't sure _what_ exactly he was feeling—he felt something new every day it seemed around Marianne, or Annie, has he had started calling her.

Owen wasn't sure if he liked her of he couldn't stand her—but he was sure it was somewhere in the middle, because she confused the pants off him. One moment she was sarcastic and made him laugh and challenged his wit, the next he was so dumbfounded by her professionalism and seriousness that it scared him. She was sassy, funny, serious, and opinionated all rolled into one; but she was also outgoing, strong-willed, and approachable, and yet even still possessing a student's open-mind and likeability.

These four weeks had challenged him in many, many aspects. He'd never worked with a woman before at Jurassic World—well, up close and on _his_ terms and turf before, anyway. Where he struggled to find words to teach Marianne, she found them; and where she struggled to understand, he explained. It was as if they were kids that had grown up next door to one another—like he could read her every thought and finish her every sentence. It drove him mad, the way they worked together so well—the way she knew his schedule forwards and backwards and could predict his every move without him even breathing word. It was like she'd always been there and had never left.

He had also noticed things—small things—about her that he'd glanced over before. He noticed she wore her hair the same way every day, she had blue eyes when she wasn't wearing contacts, she wrote with her right hand, and she had the habit of playing with her hair when she was thinking. He'd learned from simple conversation her favourite color was blue (as was his), her favourite band was _Huey Lewis and the News_ , and her favourite car was actually a '60's GTO.

What Owen had _also_ noticed was the fact he'd caught himself staring at her as they worked apart—as she charted across the catwalks, walked from the supply shed, locked up the med room, used the hood of her car more as a desk than the one in the office. He'd even noticed she'd begun to trim up only slightly around her hips, and her arms had started to tone just barely. She'd confessed to doing suicide runs over her lunch and taking up jogging in the early mornings at dawn. Owen couldn't lie—he found it exciting and intriguing.

But—her constant retorts! He couldn't say a word without her running her mouth about something opposite or with some other opinion, or some other viewpoint. She _couldn't_ just let him joke around at her—no, sir. She had to poke back, she had to get huffy and challenge his wit with sarcastic remarks and facial expressions, she had to jibe back to him to keep him in check. Her charts always had to be different than his (which he always had to correct to make his the exact same way), her filing had to meet a midshipman's standards, and the computer document's had to be put in alphabetical files for "easy access". Not only that, she'd labelled key rings and hung them on tacks just by the door, demanding they be replaced after each use. She'd flipped his office upside down in organization!

Overall, Owen didn't know if he liked her or couldn't stand her.

Now, he stared at her, both of them soggy and cold, sitting in the Ford that was turning into a sauna. Sophie traced circles on the glass somewhere behind him, his hand still on the keys, trying to make them budge. He wondered if the column was just jammed of if the entire ignition was shot. The keys were cool in his hands. He watched the water drip off the ends of her wet and soggy curls, and noted the dirt across her brow from her muddy hands—the slight scrape from the tree as it had crashed into the shed.

Truly, he'd been terrified when he'd heard her scream. He'd bolted from the main-gate as if God himself had touched down to earth. The wind had been howling, the sky alive with thunder, lightning crackling like a light-show above him when he'd seen the top of the tree fall into the shed. The sound had been deafening as it crashed through the ceiling, Marianne's blood-curdling scream sending iciness through his veins. He'd panicked, bolted for the shed without thinking twice, hoping she was alive. It was a military instinct—keep the one's alive you can, be the one to sacrifice.

But now, he was ready to sacrifice _her._

His face crumpled in a frown, but only for a second when his lips upturned in a smile. He couldn't help it. He snorted, shook his head, and this elicited a chuckle from her, which turned into a snort, which then rolled them into laughter. Sophie just was quiet in the backseat, tracing circles, and Owen rested his head against the seat-back. He was cold, hungry, and exhausted, but it was so hysterical. They laughed and laughed until he couldn't laugh anymore. He ran his hand through his hair, his sides beginning to hurt.

Marianne finally reached over and slugged his shoulder playfully, waving him out of the car. "Would you go out and fix that already?" She asked him, her laughter beginning to dissipate. She flipped some of her fallen curls behind her with the back of her hand and brushed the water droplets off her legs—bare, in shorts and hiking boots. "Don't make me do it, because I will."

Her smile was soft and genuine, and he liked the sparkle in her eyes. Without glasses they were the brightest blue he'd ever seen, which reminded him of turquoise oceans and navy seas, bright blue skies and sapphires, depending on the day and her mood. He nodded and heaved an overly-dramatic sigh, putting a hand on the door handle and popping it open."Yeah, yeah, I'll do it, I'll do it," he mumbled, causing another giggle from Marianne. His sarcastic tone caused Sophie to snicker as well. Instantly, a chilly and wet breeze shot into the cab of the truck and he slid out of the driver's seat and into the sheets of rain. Instantly he was re-soaked and he pointed to the steering column, looking at Marianne's, squinting in the rain as the droplets bombarded his eyelashes. "When I say, see if it'll go over!"

She nodded, slipping into the seat he'd vacated. The thunder boomed above him and rattled the leaves overtop the truck, causing a barrage of water to slosh down onto him. He sighed, groaned, and she popped the hood of the truck. He raised it, propped it open, and hurled himself up over the ledge, balancing on his stomach and reaching his hands deep into the engine, feeling for any type of cabling which would run from the engine to the dash. It took him a good three minutes until his hand found the problem: the steering cable was _melted_.

How had they gotten this thing out here?

"Well, screw that idea," he hollered, whipping the cable ontop the engine block and slamming the hood closed. He waved Sophie and Marianne out of the car and pointed towards the Jeep they'd arrived in. He came around to the driver's side and opened the passenger door, helping Sophie out to where she sloshed in a puddle beside him. Instantly wet and drenched, he held the door and watched Marianne slip from the driver's seat, adjusting her rain-slicker. She pulled the hood over her head and then glanced at Sophie.

Quickly pulling it over her head Marianne took a knee before Sophie and helped her into the overly large yellow rain-coat. She situated the hood over the girl's head and smiled, the rest of her clothing plastering to her body as it soaked through. To his surprise, Marianne tucked one of Sophie's dripping curls behind her ear and winked at her. She then got up and huffed out a breathe, smiling at him.

"Let's get going," she said loudly over the rain, thumping the Ford's door closed. She bounced on the balls of her feet, as if she were a boxer, and gestured towards the Jeep with her head, "They won't wait forever!" She grinned at Sophie and took off for the Jeep, her foot catching in a huge puddle and going up over her ankle. She ignored it, came to the Jeep, and popped open the doors on the driver's side, then rounded around the back towards the passengers. Owen and Sophie shared a wet, cold, surprised look.

"You heard her," Owen shrugged his shoulder, "Let's get going, Soph!"

She nodded, droplets of water spraying onto his already wet clothes. They took off for the Jeep, he helped Sophie inside, and took the driver's side. Marianne was ringing out her hair on the floor, then tied it into a bun. He watched the stray pieces of curl fall around her face. He kind of wanted to reach out and curl one of them around the tip of his fingers.

Nah, he told himself. She wasn't his type.

. . .

The valley might as well have been a swampland.

Most of the animal's had taken shelter beneath the huge trees, their long branches shielding some of the rain, their bodies keeping one another warm as they laid together and, as Sophie has retorted, "snuggled". Marianne had envied their state as she'd trudged through the mud, carrying a plastic clip-board and a heavy case of medications for Dr. Peter Bartlett, and his co-worker Neela-head veterinarians for Jurassic World and experts in genetics and gene splicing.

It'd been two hours, and Marianne was sick to death of Neela's pathetic attempts at flirtation—with both Owen and Peter Bartlett both. She was started to shiver, her penmanship beginning to fail as she scribbled orders and observations. She glanced at Owen as Neela shoved her dripping finger onto the paper, smudging an order for Doxycycline.

He was waist-deep in mud, on his knees, helping Peter try to re-position one of the Gallimimus, who'd grown ill suddenly and wasn't able to bring herself to shelter. She'd been down for hours, shivering and cold, her lungs swimming with fluid, as Peter had declared upon their arrival to the scene. Marianne watched Owen, utterly exhausted, listen as Dr. Bartlett gave him further instructions. He'd been pushing and pulling and repositioning the animal in the mud for hours, his muscles straining and his energy draining. Marianne had hoped he was okay, and had offered him Sophie's rain-jacket—abandoned as the little girl had fallen asleep in the car an hour into their assignment.

The thunder and lightning had been unmerciful, rumbling and striking overhead as if they were at war with the earth. The wind was almost unbearable, the thing keeping them all freezing and struggling to do their jobs. Hands trembled as they tried to prepare syringes, fingers shook, white with cold, as they wrote orders, and lips quivered as they shouted commands and made diagnoses. Neela's hand slapped against her shoulder, the short woman glaring at her.

"Hello? Did you get that?" She shouted. Even though there was wind, Marianne could still hear her, and she gave a sharp look to the young doctor, who softened her stare once she noticed the seriousness of Marianne's.

"Yeah, yeah, .20 instead of .02. I got it, I got it," she uttered, drawing a line through the previous entry, initialling it, and rewriting the order. She thought a moment how to spell the medication, but then got it when Neela shouted something to Dr. Bartlett about IV fluids and transfer.

She continued scribbling, and didn't feel the body sidle up to her suddenly. It caught her off guard and she jolted a bit, the rain cascading down around her. She prayed she wouldn't get sick—or that Owen wouldn't either, and turned her head to the brawny figure next to her, clad in a rain-jacket, muddy to the waist and up the arms. Something flopped in her stomach.

"How're you doing?" She asked him loudly. He nodded, bobbing his head side to side as if to indicate he was "so-so". He then swiped at the water pooling in his mustache with the back of his hand, leaving behind a trail of mud. She chuckled, and shook her head at him.

"What?" he asked.

She put the clipboard under her arm, "Nothing," she came around to his front and reached up with her hand to swipe at the mud in his mustache with her thumb. She had to stand on tip-toes, and he bristled as she put her hand, with the clipboard, on his shoulder to stabilize her, him taking a hand to hold her waist in assist. Quickly, Marianne wiped away the mud, and she realized she'd been holding her breath, as well as staring at his lips. They were both still, lingering a moment, Marianne up from his lips and into his face. He was staring at her, his jaw setting quickly, and her heart stopped. Owen looked caught off guard and unsure, and he quickly dropped his hand from her waist.

She stepped back. "You had some mud," her voice was lost as the whipping wind caught her voice, carrying it away as if she'd never said anything. She turned from him and went back to her chart, sloshing and slipping through the mud towards the animal and its doctors. She was busy writing when her feet caught a small pot-hole in the incline of the hill.

Yelping, she hit the earth and slid a few inches in the mud, the cool, slick earth covering her pants, leg, and hip. The pen and clipboard has disappeared, and pain spiked up her ankle only a moment. She instantly could tell she hadn't injured it, mostly just her pride as her face brightened with a red blossom. She jumped when two hands landed on her shoulder. She barely had time to recognize it was Owen before he came crashing down beside her, his boots catching int he slick mud of the slightly inclined hill. He too hit the ground, grunting, now entirely covered in mud beside her. His hands left her shoulder, instead grabbing onto her shirt—only, he was going _down_ the hill, and taking her with him.

" _Owen_!" she screeched at him, mud slicking her entire side and front as she manuevered onto her belly. Rage and embarrassment consumed her as they finally came to a stop at the bottom of the hill. They'd stopped a few yards from the watering place of the animals, in the very thick and very disgusting mud-pit, destroyed as the animals came and went from the water's edge. Now a good distance from Neela and Dr. Bartlett, the two doctors stared at the field assistant and Raptor handler, and Marianne could just hear them containing their laughter—and failing, their snickers pestering her thoughts. She pushed herself up on her hands, rolled over onto her back and sat up. Looking at her hands and then her torso, she plopped them back into the mud around her and glared at Owen. Her seriousness was gone, however, as he came to his knees before, looking himself over.

"I can't believe you!" she screeched at him, her voice cracking as she couldn't contain her laughter anymore. He was, from his head to his feet, entirely covered in muck. He'd swiped at his face, his facial hair only slightly visible, he was all smiles. He plastered his hands to his chest and pretended to brush the mud off, a goofy boyish grin on his face. Marianne was full out laughing now, and so was he. "Look at us!" She laughed.

"I'd say we look pretty darn sexy right about now," He laughed deeply. Marianne was roaring now, shaking her head and trying desperately to shake the mud off her hands to swipe at her face. Her entire outfit was soaked through with wet and mud, but she wasn't faltered. She finally got some of the mud off her face when she tried getting up—only to come crashing back down as her feet skated through the muck as if it were ice. She giggled, Owen all out laughing, lashing out to catch her with his hand.

'I can't believe you drug me with you," she breathed, shoving him away playfully. "I look disgusting!" She snorted, pulling her arm away from him playfully. He'd stopped laughing heavily now, was only chuckling and trying to catch his breath, staring at her. She began to calm as well, them both an arm's reach away from one another. Their eyes locked, and he only tore them away to give her a very obvious once over.

She felt his stare and got nervous, her stomach spiking jabs of alarm into her heart. She panicked and began to scramble, trying to get up. "We should get back up there—"

He grabbed her wrist, halting her, and jerked her back down to her knees. She turned to face him and he inched her closer to him, lowering their hands slowly. He took his other to push some mud from her ear and his eyes scanned hers frantically. Her breathing was shallow, his was deep and calm. He smelled terrifically of earth and man, she felt herself begin to swoon. "I think you look amazing, Annie." He said deeply, that bourbon-y tone swirling her mind and causing heat to rise up in her chest.

"You look pretty good yourself," she squeaked.

He chuckled, his hand falling into place along her jaw. His thumb stroked her cheek, "I told you we looked pretty sexy right about now," She smiled up at him, lost in his eyes, craving whatever he was going to say next. Marianne couldn't have moved if she tried—was this happening? Was he going to kiss _her?_ Right now? Hope dashed into her chest and stole her breath.

Then, it began happening. His eyelids fluttered closed and he lowered his head towards her, gently tipping up her chin with his other hand and pulling her towards him. Marianne saw nothing after that, as her eyes closed and her breathe hitched, her chest aflame and every nerve within her boiling over hot—all freezing rain driven from her body. She could feel his breath on her face, she could feel her body melding into his, her muscles readying for this moment she'd fantasized about from the first moment she'd laid eyes on him—despite their circumstances. She couldn't hear the wind or the thunder, of feel the rain and strike of lightning anymore—all she could feel was him as her hands found his arms and gently slid across his slick and muddy skin, right across hard, packed muscle tone. Her legs were quavering, even though she was on her knees. He stood taller, if possible, on his knees, bending at the abdomen to lower down to kiss her. He did everything, didn't make her do anything, just coached her on.

He, ever so gently, tipped her head to the side. Their noses brushed together—

"Uncle Owen!"

They froze. Owen bristled, and she hitched her breath. As if on cue, both of them opened their eyes and found each other, before Owen briskly turned away from her, dropping his hands and sliding himself through the mud to his feet. Marianne desperately tried to stand, skating slowly, until he reached out to help her. She glanced at him, him giving her a confused, sorry, and weak smile. They both turned their attention up the hill, where Sophie was jumping and waving at them, and then pointing over the crest of the hill to where the doctor's had to have been working.

They trudged the hill, the rain continuing, silence between them. Marianne hoped most of the mud covered the blossoms of red boiling on her face. Her heart was still hammering, her lips tingling. They crested the hill, Sophie now over by the animal, her eyes alive with sparks of hope, excitement, and ecstasy.

Dr. Bartlett gave both Marianne and Owen a knowing, sly expression. He was kneeling at the animal's side, stethoscope pressed to the animal's chest, listening. Owen abandoned her side to assist the man in whatever he needed assisted with, and Neela came up beside Marianne with the dirty clipboard and pen. She had a scowl on her face, and Marianne got some satisfaction at knowing she was jealous, but it instantly plummeted.

He'd turned away. Without a word.

".20 of Doxycycline," Neela's tone soured, "and make sure you mark the time." She turned on her heel, which squished in the mud, and Marianne nodded, pen poised over the paper. She began writing, but paused and glanced at Owen, who was staring at her over the animal. Their eyes caught for a brief moment before Sophie came bounding around the animal's body and latched onto Marianne's arm, now in the rain-coat Owen had abandoned. She was all smiles. Marianne looked down to the girl, smiled softly, and then turned back to Owen.

He was still watching her.


	19. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

Dripping wet and cold beyond belief, the three of them staggered back into the Samsung building not four minutes before six o'clock. Sophie was dead on her feet, Owen having to scoop her up and carry her towards the elevators, Marianne behind and wringing her hair out on the marble floors of the massive room. They climbed the airy steps and past by the abandoned reception desk and Owen dipped on his legs to smash the up button with his shoulder.

The file from the field assessment was fresh and clean—thanks to copies Marianne had seen to at the Raptor paddock. The rain had finally subsided into a trickling drizzle, but the wind hadn't stopped. The entire park was empty, everyone hiding indoors and staying warm, besides the employees. The elevator levelled off, and they stepped inside.

Marianne and Owen hadn't spoken two important words to each other since their incident, instead working beside one another and replying in short, work-related sentences. Sophie, now asleep in Owen's arms, was still in her oversized raincoat. Marianne had Owen's rifle draped over her shoulders. Her eyes shifted uncomfortably between her feet when the car dinged and the doors parted, them stepping through.

She'd been to the labs a few times since her arrival—the sterile, spacious and modern looking medical facility more of a movie-set than an actual workstation. The technicians were all quietly working, in sterile suits and business attire, carefully and gracious performing the tasks of the minds of Jurassic World. Marianne felt like a drowned rat out of place in a museum as they approached the front desk of the lab area, Owen checking them in and stating their arrival to see Claire and Dr. Wu.

The man nodded, waived them in, and someone greeted them—a young Asian girl in a dress and labcoat, glasses perched on top of her head. She was shorter than Marianne, but smiled brightly at them despite their condition. Her ID read Lillian Wu—and Marianne's brow wrinkled. The girl extended her hand. "Hello," she stated cheerily, "I don't think we've met yet. I'm Lillian Wu." She nodded to Owen, "Nice to see you again, Owen."

"Lil," he dipped his head to her, Sophie still in his arms. Lillian chuckled and looked at the young girl, and then turned to Marianne. She gestured to the file.

"I would guess that's for my father," she grinned, "the field assessment on the Gallimimus?"

Marianne, mouth slightly parted, nodded. "Yeah," she handed the file to Lillian, who opened it to scan it quickly before closing it and sticking it under her arm. "You're Henry Wu's daughter?"

She nodded, a light blush brushing her cheeks to life. She looked like a porcelain doll, complete with short and stylish hair curled with a curling iron and compete with a bow pinning up bangs to the right of her face. "Yes, that's right. You know my father?"

Marianne shook her soggy curls, "Not formally. I've heard of him, from my mentor—Alan Grant."

The woman bristled. She gasped, nodding slowly, her eyes looking away from Marianne suddenly. Something told her this young woman knew something she didn't, and that it applied to Wu's sudden disappearance after the Jurassic Park incident. Marianne had been less than pleased when she'd heard Wu was behind this place as well, reasoning he was a coward and a greedy man focused only on his own success and not learning from his mistakes. She'd reasoned right, after all she supposed, given the look on Lillian's face.

"Yes, Dr. Grant," Lillian turned and gestured them come with a gracious wave of her hand. They wove in-between lab workers and technitians, Owen taking up the rear with Sophie. Marianne could've sworn she felt his gaze on her, but tried to ignore him. She would have to deal with him later she guessed, much to her dismay. "My father has spoken of him. A good man, Dr. Grant."

Marianne nodded as if Lillian could see her, "He is."

They stopped at a spacious office, encased in glass. Marianne spotted Wu and Claire talking at his desk, Claire seated primly with a tablet and a cell at hand, Wu behind his desk playing with some type of brain teaser from his desktop. They were chatting formally, and Marianne looked up to Owen—he didn't appear to be studying Claire, but she didn't really care either way. "My father has wanted to meet you, Miss Randal," Lillian interjected quickly. She pushed open the door and stepped inside, holding it for the soggy field workers. She grinned at them lightly and turned to her father, walking towards the desk, her deep black hair bouncing around her face. "Father," she interjected. Wu instantly stood, greeted his daughter, and Claire turned in her chair. A look of brief disgust flashed her face before fading way into a cold glare. "Owen Grady and Marianne Randal to see you," Lillian waved them forward, "They have the completed assessment on the Gallimimus." She handed him the file.

He smiled at them, nodding and waving them forward. "Thank you, Lillian," he kissed her head, "You may go." She smiled, slipped past them, and was gone out the door back to the lab.

Marianne and Owen tenderly approached, as if they'd entered some forbidden fruit, some classified and restricted place. Marianne didn't at all like the tone and vibe she was getting here—not at all. It reeked of chaos and controlled science—controlled expectations and a fake sense of security. She swallowed and accepted Wu's hand when he extended it to her. "Miss Randal," dipped his head at her, "I've heard the rumours that you'd joined us here, but I couldn't believe them." He gestured to the extra chair and set the file on his desk, "Please, sit." Marianne nodded, smiled softly, and seated herself slowly next to Claire, who looked as if she'd climbed out of a washing machine that morning. Her clothing squished as she sat.

"Mr. Grady," Wu nodded to a loveseat in the corner next to a library of books, sitting under the picture widow streaked with rain. The whipping trees bent slightly outside, but inaudible and only a visual warning, "You can rest her there if you like." Owen nodded, crossed the room and placed Sophie down carefully. Marianne watched him caress her cheek briefly before placing a tender kiss on her nose. He came back to them, stood between her and Claire's chair, and crossed his arms; legs spread a shoulders-width apart.

Before anyone could say anything else, Marianne interjected, her face crinkled in confusion, "I'm sorry, Dr. Wu, but, I'm a little confused," she shook her head slightly, "have we met before?" She knew they hadn't, but she wanted an explanation as to how this man knew her and what business he had being here. She doubted she'd get the fully history, but something was better than nothing. Alan would flip if he heard.

Wu's laughter was a bit offensive, making her feel like an idiot in a room of genius. She swallowed thickly and he began, "I don't believe so, Miss Randal."

"Marianne," she interjected, brow still wrinkled. She crossed a wet and mud-streaked leg over her knee. Ironically, mud dropped from her boot and onto the floor. Claire looked at it as if it were a rat. Marianne ignored the woman's stare.

"Marianne," Wu dipped his head to her, "I believe we have not met before, though it seems you know who I am," his voice was light and cheery, as if he were working at Disneyland instead of Jurassic World. "Which isn't surprising since you have worked so closely with Dr. Grant."

Her brow dipped further into confusion, "Dr. Grant has spoken highly of you," it was only a partial truth—as Alan had said the man was a remarkable genius, but naive and money-centric. She swallowed her words and then added, "So has Dr. Malcolm." She'd met him on only one occasion, and that had been enough.

"Well, I appreciate you putting it so delicately." He seated himself and steeped his fingers together, then pointed them at her, "I'm sure their opinions don't quite match your platitudes."

So he was smarter than appeared. She shrugged her shoulders, "I'm sure they don't. But that doesn't really answer my question, Dr. Wu." Claire shot her a glare, as if she had just ruffled the feathers of a very important peacock of the company. She didn't really care.

He laughed, "You were right, Claire. She is very high-spirited."

Marianne and Owen both whipped a look at Claire, who looked startled. She blushed madly, then looked down at her tablet, Marianne's face folding into a look of confusion, hurt, and rage. Owen, ever the steady rock between them, said nothing. She could feel the humour emanating from him already. She shot back to him, "I'm glad it has been dually noted." Her tone was biting and defensive. It didn't go unnoticed.

He put up his hands, "Don't be offended, Miss Randal," he pushed his chair back slowly, "I didn't mean to offend you. To answer your question, I know you from mention by the late John Hammond—of whom I am sure you are familiar."

Yes. She was. She had met Hammond briefly before his death, still a college student and working with Alan. He'd called Alan to have lunch and discuss his research, as he had still been a huge contributor for funding. He had apologized for his deeds to make atonement with the palaeontologist. Alan had been gracious enough to accept the man's apology, and Marianne had been with him. She'd conversed with Hammond in detail about Jurassic Park, and Alan had spoken nothing of her but praises and promises of a bright future. Hammond had been delighted with her, Alan had said. She squared her shoulders slightly. "Yes. I knew John before he passed away."

Wu nodded slowly, his lips pulled tightly together, "Yes, an unfortunate occurrence. Hammond spoke of you when I went to see him before his death. He told me you were an excellent candidate for research assistance, and that you had been assisting Dr. Grant quite successfully during your college education and into adulthood," he smiled at her, "he was most fond of you in his tellings."

Her brows arched, "Well he was a kind man," she nodded slowly, trying to decipher the direction of where this was headed. She didn't like the situation here—she felt put into a corner, waiting for something to strike at her unexpectantly. "Delusional, but kind."

He chuckled, "Delusional? That would be debatable. Some would say he was a genius."

"Some would also say he was a madman with a delusional dream of grandeur." She quipped.

Wu's brows shot up, and he shrugged a shoulder, looking between the three of them before settling his stare back on her. He cleared his throat, "Hammond had a vision, a vision that was prematurely—"

"—playing God is always premature, Dr. Wu," Marianne cut in quickly, "Hammond had a dream that was dangerous and that unfeasible. He failed to look at history and see that man and dinosaurs had a chance together and didn't succeed."

Wu, obviously caught of guard, shook his head, "If you are implying a biblical approach to science, Miss Randal—"

"I'm merely implying an approach of both biblical and recent history, Dr. Wu. There is a reason these things have failed, and I think it's best to learn from our mistakes."

He leaned forward and placed his arms on the desk, folding his hands together. "So you would say Jurassic World is a mistake?"

She nodded firmly, gesturing with her hands, only to clap them back over her knee. "I would say it's...I would say the caution being displayed here would be poorly executed, yes." She swallowed, "John Hammond failed to see the lack of control in Jurassic Park twenty years ago, Dr. Wu. He failed to recognize the fact that man cannot control these things—that we've _never_ been in control." She stared at him, him watching her with narrowed eyes.

"So you would say the same of Jurassic World?"

She was getting tired of his comparisons, his antagonistic approach. He wanted her to say it—wanted her to fall into the political pit. She stared at him in the face and set her jaw, "I would say Jurassic World is an updated version of Jurassic Park—the technology has changed and so has the staff, but the underlying factor is this: you didn't learn from Jurassic Park. You're making the same mistakes, just with different computers and different staff." She leaned forward, her hands digging into her knees as she tried to keep her tone cool and collected.

He straightened at this, looking slightly baffled. Claire was glaring at her as if she were the devil himself. Owen just stared at her, mouth slightly agape, his eyes blank and filled with complete and utter surprise, "I will admit this place is amazing. It's fantastic, actually. Utterly unbelievable. But, I for one can't forget what happened at Jurassic Park—people died, Dr. Wu. They died because they failed to see how small people really, truly are."

He brought his hands to his chin and tapped his steeped fingers against it, staring at her as if he were a predator letting its meal go, for now. Marianne was sweating now, her body aflame, and by the tension in the room, she knew she was either fired, or in deep with Claire. She swallowed thickly, tucking some of her hair behind her ear, waiting for Wu to respond. He let out a breath and shuffled some papers on his desk.

"Well then. You're certainly not the woman I thought you were, Miss Randal."

She gave him a sarcastic smirk, "No. I don't think I am."

He looked away from her to their file they had brought in, "I will look over the field report you compiled and let you know if there is anything else I need. I believe that's everything, Claire?" Obviously a cue to exit, Marianne stood. Owen was already crossing the room and had Sophie in his arms, moving back towards the door. Marianne pulled open the door, Wu catching her before she could exit. "Good to finally meet you, Miss Randal."

She nodded curtly to him. "And to you too, Doctor." She stepped out the door, not waiting for Owen, feeling rage burning within her body. Just wait until she told Alan that not only was Wu behind Jurassic World, he hadn't learned a thing from working with Hammond. He'd dug himself deeper into a pit.

"Marianne," Owen called after her, his voice sounding like he wanted to calm her down and talk. She didn't want to talk to him. She didn't want to talk with Claire, which she knew would be coming. She wanted to go to her bungalow, sit, and eat ice-cream and talk to Alan—wanted to escape the watching eyes and knowing glances, the ones that made her feel as if she was a total fish out of water here. Were these people so blind as to see they were making the biggest mistake of their lives?

She continually slammed the elevator button, but the car never came. Marianne hadn't realized she was crying until she sniffled and her eyes blurred with tears, her wet body heavy and chilled. Owen came up behind her with Sophie still in his arms, but she turned away from him, spotting the stairwell leading downstairs. She hurried towards it, whipped the door open and pounded down the stairs.

Owen, obviously in good shape to keep up with her while holdind a child, called out to her. "Marianne, hold one a second! Stop!" His voice echoed down the stairwell, but she whipped herself around the corner and pounded down another flight.

No. She didn't want to stop, or hold on. She wanted to run. Away from him and the feeling she had in her for him—a stupid attraction she knew would never amount to anything, because he had turned away from her. Away from Wu—who had made her look like a fool not only in front of Owen but in front of Claire. Away from Claire—who made her feel like less of a woman because of her opinions, her presence, and her jealously of her. Away from the paddock and the guys and the four raptors she wanted nothing more than to bond with.

Finally reached the ground floor, Owen's calls ringing behind her, she burst through the door and bolted for the main entrance. She pushed open the glass doors, and came out into the drizzle and the wind, which caught her hair. She look around and found the Jeep, knowing that Owen was going to need to take Sophie back to the resort and get her safe and sound. Nothing else in sight to get her back to her bungalow. Panic seized her, her panting from the strenuous task of taking the stairs, and she thought of where to go, what to do. She whirled around when Owen stumbled through the door, without Sophie. Marianne looked past him to see he'd placed her on one of the benches in the building, which was empty, as everyone had left in shuttles back to resort when the rain had lightened.

He stared at her, panting and sweating, both of them silent. His eyes pleaded with her to stay, not to run away. She swallowed thickly, her lungs burning. "Marianne, we need to talk about this—" He outstretched a hand towards her as he approached her quickly, suddenly.

Like a scared animal, she bolted down the rest of the stairs and out from under the canopy, shaking her head. Now wet again and freezing, she turned to him and back up, shaking her head and giving him a fake smile, then waved him off. Turning back around, she scanned the area, and found the maintenance road open. Looking over her shoulder at him, he was now standing in the rain, coming towards her, and she was surprised when his hand latched around her arm so quickly.

"We need to talk about this," he said over the wind. Her eyes scanned his, lost and confused and hurting, and she yanked her arm from his hand and stepped back. No. She didn't want to talk to him. She knew what he was going to say before he would say it. She understood.

"We don't, no. I understand." She shook her head, "What happened happened and that's that. Don't make it more complicated." She looked back to the building, the rain slicking her entire body and resoaking her boots and legs. Marianne was still panting when she shifted her gaze back to Owen. "I understand, it's fine. It's happened before. Say hey to Sophie for me when she gets up." She backed away from him before he could take her hand again, which he was reaching to do. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Marianne, don't—"

She waved him off, "It's okay," she called out to him in the rain, her heart hammering in her chest. She felt as if she'd cry again, but she refused to in front of him. No. She'd cried in front of Nick and that had been the biggest mistake of her life. She wouldn't do it now too. No way. "I understand. It's fine. I don't blame you!" She turned from him and jogged towards the maintenance road. "It's absolutely fine," she mumbled to herself, jogging around the corner of the gate.

She began the trek up the hill and into the park, sloshing in the gathered puddles and mud of the dirt road. She didn't look over her shoulder and pulled the hood of her raincoat over her head.


	20. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

Owen watched Marianne's form disappear through the maintenance gate, the yellow raincoat lost in the drizzling rain. He ran his hands through his soaking hair and cursed himself, stomping his foot against the concrete steps of the Samsung building. He turned to face the building, and then whirled around, hoping to see her coming back.

She wasn't.

"What're you doin', Owen?" He mumbled to himself, stalking towards the entrance towards the door. He pulled it open savagely and tromped inside, anger boiling in his belly. He was wet, but he didn't feel cold – every nerve within his body was tightened to the maximum. He felt hot all over and furious inside. _First you try to kiss her and then you let her walk away. Idiot!_

He wasn't sure what had come over him at the bottom of the hill – he'd just found himself with his hands along her jaw, entranced by her presence; her body falling into against his, her breath so graciously tender on his lips. He had felt her eagerness, her desperation, the desire – the _passion_. Owen had kissed many girls before, but he'd never kissed one that was craving his every move, anticipating his actions, reading his mind. She taken hold of his arms when he wanted her to, she'd moved toward him and let him come the rest of the way perfectly. It had been like a dream.

What was his problem?

Marianne wasn't his type of girl – he didn't particularly go for huskier girls, or girls that frustrated the life out of him. She was more like a sister than anything else – always challenging him at every turn and pestering him to death. He couldn't stand her argumentativeness.

His thoughts drifted to the upstairs conversation they'd had just a few moments before her abrupt exit. What had she been thinking? He had heard she was a bit conspiratorial from a few employees as she stuck her nose into political conversations and had sported her opinions boldly, but he hadn't imagined she'd have the nerve to speak them out of closed quarters. He'd been in shock when Wu had asked her such questions, for one; but he'd been entirely blown out of the water at her responses. Owen hadn't expected her to be so brutally honest.

Or so stupid.

He was pretty sure Claire would fire her – one didn't just mouth off to Wu without consequences. But, then again, he'd seen stranger things here before. Claire didn't like Marianne, that was for certain, but her work was pristine and quick – he doubted they'd be able to find someone so eager to push papers and assist him, as well as be quick to pick up the work. Also, Owen doubted he'd be able to find someone so entranced with the raptors like she was, but that he suspected wasn't the primary concern.

He stood before the bench he'd rested Sophie in, to find her still sleeping. The Samsung building, abandoned, felt hollow and void with no voices or activity in it, but he didn't mind. His muscles felt like jelly, having to push and pull and fight the weather with the doctors. Not only that, his head was still swimming with what had happened with Marianne, and his chest was still aflame. His lips were still tingling though nothing had happened.

He seated himself on the bench next to Sophie's sleeping form. Maybe he _was_ attracted to Marianne. If there was one thing Owen knew, it was that love is fickle, and that it strikes anywhere at any time with anyone – without mercy. It could be entirely possible he was attracted to Marianne - was strong, passionate, willing, and everything he'd always looked for in a girl. She seemed stable and sure of herself, and she was beyond intelligence and efficiency. The only problems he saw with her was her sassiness and her physique.

But did that matter? Truly? Would that keep him from pursuing someone who was like him that he could identify with – that was smart, strong, and devoted? He didn't know Marianne well at all, as it had been only four weeks, but he knew enough to determine that he liked her more than he disliked her, despite their differences. He'd always enjoyed women who were challenging and made him think twice – and Marianne certainly did that. But was he really ready to pursue this? He hoped he wasn't so shallow as to let her go because of her physique, because in the grand scheme of things, it didn't really matter. The things that stayed the same were heart, personality, will – bodies came and went. Souls were what mattered.

He looked to Sophie – the girl seemed to adore Marianne. She lit up every time she was around. Perhaps this little bug he so loved had read into something he couldn't, or refused to see. Perhaps she could sense something about Marianne that Owen was immune too – maybe it was some gift God gave to children. He chuckled as she snuggled closer to him, for warmth, and he slipped his arms under her body to pick her up. Standing, he quickly moved out the door and towards the Jeep, where he put her in the backseat carefully. He'd take her back to the resort and let her sleep.

He climbed into the Jeep, shifted it into gear, and left the Samsung building.

. . .

Marianne had trekked it back to her bungalow, her legs feeling as if they were gelatine bricks. She staggered through the door, practically falling over as she tried to kick it closed, shedding her raincoat on the floor.

She fell onto the couch, her entire body numb. She was freezing, wet, dirty, and emotionally spent – how could she have been so stupid? She'd had a lot of time to process her feelings on her walk home, but she couldn't feel anything else other than satisfaction at the look on Wu's face. She closed her eyes and processed the silence – the only sound the natural pelting of water on the roof of the bungalow.

Energy began to sap from her body until she forced herself from the couch. Stripping off her clothes, she managed to take a scalding shower and wash out her hair and the mud off her body – as well as the worries of the day. Her heart was still aching inside her from what Owen had done to her, but it was equally bruised from her own foolishness of turning away from him when he'd wanted to talk. She pushed the thoughts from her mind as she stroked some conditioning cream into her hair before the mirror. It was a fantasy, what she was hoping for.

Marianne had half a mind to call Alan, but thought better of it. He didn't want to hear her cry about her day – and she didn't want to hear him say "I told you so". She ached for his company, since she'd only talked to him three times since her arrival four weeks ago. They mostly exchanged emails and texts, but she still missed his voice and his company. She lowered herself to the floor and sat cross-legged in the middle of her living room, pondering her day and her sorry state.

She closed her eyes, taking in the serenity, when her phone rang.

Moaning, she crawled over to her pants she'd abandoned and dug out the phone, seeing that it was Barry. She rolled her eyes – he'd probably called to talk to her about Owen or defend him, like guys did. She dreaded answering it, but she did, and pressed the phone to her ear. Her stomach sank in her abdomen.

"Barry," she said dryly, messaging the bridge of her nose. She let out a slow exhale, hopefully giving him the hint that she was in no mood to talk about Owen – or talk in general. Really, all she wanted to do was sleep. But, Barry was breathing heavy and the wind over the connection made it hard to discern where he was and what was going on. Marianne's body bristled as something clashed in the background, and muffled voices were calling over the line. She slowly got up and approached the window. She asked again, "Barry?"

"Marianne!" He sounded frantic and dishevelled. Thunder cracked outside, jolting Marianne in her place behind the glass. She peered outside, finding movement across the road. The rain had picked up again, coming in sheets now, pelting against the window. She noted the movement was actually a person, running towards her front door, and Barry swore over the line before it went dead.

"Barry!"

She was about to redial when a sharp knock came on her door. Her heart pitched and she bolted for the door, whipping it open, to find Barry, soaked through, standing under her canopy. His shirt was stained with blood and mud, and he was breathing heavily. Her eyes widened and she stuffed the phone in her back pocket before lunging for him, as he staggered through the doorway.

Her attention immediately went to the blood on his shirt, "Are you hurt?" she asked him. He shook his head and stepped back out into the rain, gesturing for her to come. She furrowed her brow and grabbed her raincoat. "Barry! What's going on?"

"It's the raptors!" he exclaimed over the wind. Thunder struck the sky and lightning erupted in a jagged bolt across the sky above them. Her heart whirled, her stomach dropped to her ankles, and her breath hitched in her throat. Panic overcame her as she shrugged the coat on and slammed the door behind her, following Barry back out into the rain.

"The raptors? What's wrong with them?" She hurried towards him, following him across the road to where a silver Silverado was parked under the large fronds of a tropical, local tree. He hurried her, waving frantically, before slipping in the truck. Marianne came to the passenger side, pulled open the door, and stepped up into the truck. Panting, she stared at Barry as he was already tearing away from her bungalow and down the muddy road. She was dripping when again when she grabbed his forearm. "Barry. What's wrong?"

"It's Delta," he breathed heavily, cranking up the heat in the truck. Barry began navigating the road expertly, not slowing around curves, "Something's happened. I'm not sure what."

Panic overtook her. Delta? Sick? Wounded? Her heart began to hammer and she felt as though she'd be sick. Marianne swallowed thickly, dismay lacing itself through her veins, dread punching her in the gut like a blow in a boxing ring. Her mouth instantly parched and gooseflesh dotted her skin. Her grip tightened on Barry's arm, as she wondered where Owen was outloud, "Where's Owen?"

"He's not answering his phone," Barry swallowed, "So I called you. I'm sorry, it's your night off –" she cut him off by shaking her head, slapping the dash and rolling her wrist to indicate he should go faster.

"No, no, never mind that. Get going," she dug the phone from her pocket and punched in Owen's number, slamming the phone between her shoulder and ear. She swallowed tensely and closed her eyes, trying not to panic. She could do this. She knew where the meds were and knew basic first aid– or so she hoped. If not, she could always call the vet team and get them out to help. The least she could do would be to sedate Delta and get her out of the paddock – if she was even still in there. "Is she in the paddock still?"

Barry shook his head, "No. We moved her. But her sister's ain't too happy."

Owen's voicemail. "I'd imagine so," she redialled him, replacing the phone and bracing herself against the door as Barry took another corner sharply. When she got his voicemail again, she cursed him and stuffed it back into her pocket. "Someone's gunna have to go get him in the resort," she grumbled.

"I'll drop you off and go get him," Barry interjected, roaring to a stop before the paddock a few moments later. Marianne abruptly left the truck and hustled towards the observation cage, where the guys were gathered with flashlights and rainslickers, a few on the ground. She skittered to a stop when she saw Delta, laying on her side, hardly moving, making squawking noses quietly as if she were fading.

Her heart seized, the other three raptors hissing and screeching and clawing at the main gate furious as if hell were on their heels. Marianne whipped a look to them, reaching through the gate with their talons, rain from her hair slapping her in the face. She was breathing hard and she looked over her shoulder to find Barry tearing away from the paddock, his taillights gone in the sheets of rain.

In an instant she pounced towards the observation area, shoving past Briggs and another worker, who had lights. He grabbed at her arm when she tore through the entrance, "Annie, wait a second!" His thick and strong accent was lost on the wind as she roughly shoved his arm off of her.

"No, Briggs!" She quelled and staggered towards Delta, tripping in a pot hole. Her vision began to swim when tears pooled in her eyes. She dropped into the mud next to the animal and looked up to the man standing over her with a light, another beside Delta in the muck. She glared. "Who have you called?" She demanded, her voice straining over the wind. Her throat was raw and sore, but she didn't care, and tucked her dripping locks behind her ear. Thunder erupted on the wind and lightning flashed again. The rain fell around her in blankets, wetting her yet again, threatening to steal her resolve for this place. She slowly moved her hand to touch Delta's snout, but the animal hissed lowly in her throat and inched away slowly, as if she were in pain. The animal's gaze was lazily and slow, indicating infection.

The man's reply was simple. "Owen," he said quietly, "and we called you."

. . .

Zach came out of the shower to find Grey scribbling in his journal again, engrossed with drawing a picture. His hair was wet and he was in pajamas. Zach approached the other double bed and flopped onto it, closing his eyes and drinking in the silence.

Claire had sent them back to their room an hour after she'd sent them away to deal with the storm outages and whatever else was wrong. She'd promised to do something fun with them tomorrow if time permitted, but Zach had stopped counting on her promises. Right now all he wanted to do was sleep and crawl under a rock. This trip had been nothing but a disaster from the get-go. He rolled onto his stomach and grabbed a pillow, tucking it under his chin.

"This blows," he muttered.

Grey replied, "Yep."

There was silence between them now, and Zach huffed. They had to do something, or he was going to go mad – and so was Grey. He closed his eyes and was quiet for a long moment before his stomach let out an unceremonious growl, signalling him that he wasn't just tired, but he was hungry too. Grey looked over at him.

"I'm hungry too," Grey said simply.

Zach nodded. He got up and began putting on his sandals – they were going out to supper, regardless if Claire came or not. He wasn't waiting around anymore. After all, they were VIPs on this island, and they could do whatever they wanted and eat whatever they wanted. He snapped his fingers at Grey.

"Come on, get your stuff around – we're going to get something to eat."

Grey's face wrinkled, "But Aunt Claire –"

"Aunt Claire blows," Zach spat at him, "And I'm starving. Let's go." He tossed Grey's hoodie at him, the kid catching it quickly and flopping his journal closed. Zach zipped up his own sweater and opened the hotel door, Grey quickly slipping the hoodie on and changing into jeans. He hurried out the door, Zach checking his pockets for his phone and the hotel key card. They passed down the hall quickly, to the elevators, where they got off on the ground level and entered the lobby, which was buzzing with nervous and anxious guests ready to get out of the rain.

He checked with the receptionist, who gave them complimentary umbrella's – since, after all, they were Claire's nephews. Zach opened his and stepped into the rain, Grey following suit, until they sloshed down the stairs and entered the vacant, abandoned park. No one was out and around, except some employees running to and from shops and locations cleaning up debris from the storm and tending to their duties. Zach walked briskly toward the main strip, stepping over branches and into puddles, Grey hot on his heels.

They finally came to the first place they agreed on – Margaritaville, where he knew they served great appetizers and had great arcade games. He stepped through the doors, shook out his embrella, and fastened it closed – only to find the place only half full, with quiet music and a few people at the bar drinking drinks and munching on pretzels. Zach scanned the place with his eyes and spotted a corner booth, Grey following him into the building.

Instantly, a waitress came over to them and gave them suspicious looks, "Aren't you guys a bit young to be in here?" She asked, her tone cautious and warning. She put her hands on her hips and then tossed one of her braids over her shoulders.

"To eat and have Cokes?" Zach said, bitingly. Her brows rose a few inches, indicating her surprise at his statement and his attitude. Zach didn't care. He pushed the hood of his sweater from his head and gestured between him and Grey. "Two Cokes and we'll take menus,"

Grey held up the wrist band on his wrist, pointing at it, "We're Claire Dearing's nephews."

She nodded slowly, giving them a look that told them she didn't care, nor was impressed. She spun on her heel, only to return with menus and two Cokes in glasses. She abandoned them at the first sign of an outing, and they glanced at the menus a good ten minutes before she came back. Ordering burgers and fries, she left them to themselves and Zach looked around.

He spotted someone in the corner booth, a guy that seemed oddly familiar, in wet clothes littered with mud, complete with dishevelled and stringy wet hair and a beer. Zach instantly remembered him from earlier – he was the guy with the little girl Grey had been curious about, whom Claire had been talking to. Zach stared at him a few minutes before Grey noticed, then elbowed him in the ribs.

"Hey, isn't that the guy -?"

"Yeah, that's him," Grey didn't need to finish his statement, since they both knew who the man was. He must've felt them staring, because he gestured at them with his bottle and nodded their direction. Zach waved and nodded back, the man getting up from his place. He approached them with his beer bottle and stuffed his hand into his pocket. He tipped the bottle and took a drink, coming up to their table.

Zach looked at him expectantly. "Hi." Was all he said. Grey took a drink of his Coke and stared up at the man, who nodded and removed the bottle from his lips. He exhaled, satisfied, and nodded to them.

"Hey." He managed. His voice was hoarse and deep, but smooth. He gestured with his bottle between them, "Aren't you two Claire Dearing's nephews?" He asked, his brow dropping into a curious furrow. Zach nodded.

"Yeah, that's us."

Grey drank at his Coke, still watching the man. The man's corner of his mouth rose in a slight smile, and he pulled his hand from his pocket and extended it to Zach. "Name's Owen. Nice to meet you guys."

"Zach," he introduced himself, shaking the man's hand, then he pointed to Grey. "That's Grey."

"Cool," Owen slipped into the booth beside Grey without asking. Zach wasn't sure who this guy was, but he seemed laid back and kinda cool, so he didn't protest. If things got weird he could always get rid of him – it wasn't like he was a total stranger. He knew Claire, obviously. "So. How long you guys here for?" He started conversation.

"Until August," Grey piped up. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, then attacked his straw with his lips again, pulling for another drink. The guy called Owen looked at Grey and nodded, taking another drink of his Coors. Zach envied his collectiveness and the coolness emanating from him.

"August, huh? All summer."

Grey nodded. "Yep."

"And you're enjoying yourself I hope?" He looked to Zach, who dropped his stare into his drink. He wasn't about to answer that question, because in all honesty, he wanted nothing more to be on the first ferry out of here and be home, with his girlfriend, and his own bed. He wanted to be with his parents, despite their differences.

"Yeah. It's good," Grey replied, cheerily. Zach kicked him under the table as if to signal him to stop lying. Grey gave him a glare but looked away when Owen fell against the back of the booth and chuckled. He lifted a shoulder in a shrug and took another quick drink. They were quiet a moment. Zach didn't look the man in the face – this man knew his Aunt, and could get them in trouble if she found out they were here. He scowled at the thought.

As if reading his mind, Owen asked, "So. You guys aren't supposed to be out here, are you?". He looked expectant, as if they were required to answer his investigation. Grey shifted again and Zach shrugged his shoulders, looking away and rolling his eyes. Owen chuckled. "That a no?"

"We were bored," Grey shrugged. Owen glanced back at Zach, who looked away from him. He wanted to slap his brother across the face, "It was Zach's idea." No he wanted to punch him into the next century.

"Ah, well," he chuckled, "I figured –"

At that instant, the door to the building burst open, bouncing on the hinges, and in stepped an African American man. He was dripping wet with mud on his shirt and blood, and he looked as if he'd been seeing ghosts for the past forty years. Zach's heart plummeted and he braced against the table, and Owen instantly released his drink and bolted for the door. "Barry!" he exclaimed, obviously knowing the man. The man dripped heavily on the door, the entire place staring at him. Thunder struck outside and Zach noticed the rain had picked up.

"Owen, you must come!" The man called Barry panted, motioning towards the door, jerking his thumb. Zach spotted a silver truck parked halfhazardly outside, lights blaring and wipers going full bore, "Something's happened!"

"What, what?" Owen quipped him for questions.

Barry clenched his fist around Owen's wrist and shook his head, "Just _come!_ " Zach's heart pitched in his chest and he shared a look with Grey, who had a mixed look of excitement and terror on his face. The man called Owen looked over his shoulder at them. Zach knew that look, the one that told him the man was going to tell Claire where they were, but was weighing his options. If he left them and told Claire, she'd explode on him and ask him why he'd left him – but if he took them with him, Zach wasn't so sure either: he didn't know this man, and the situation certainly didn't sound…fantastic.

To his dismay, Owen jerked his head towards the direction of the door at them, "Come on, fellah's, let's move. I'll take you back to your Aunt's when I get back." He hustled out the door with the other man, Zach and Grey sharing a look. Owen stopped on the porch of the building, "You two coming, or what?"

Grey was the first to leave the booth, Zach only delaying as he smiled awkwardly at the waitress.


	21. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

Barry slammed the brakes on the truck.

Already braced against the door panels, Owen and Claire's nephews lurched forward, their belts catching across their waists. Owen didn't care, because Barry hadn't been able to stop soon enough for him. Before the truck had stopped skidding in the mud he was out the door, barrelling for the observation paddock, where a group of workers had already formed with lights. The rain was pelting still, and his heart was hammering as hard as it could, as if it were an artillery cannon pounding off shots. The two boys and Barry followed him, the truck now abandoned.

He was laced with adrenaline as he gripped the cage encircling the area, whipping himself around the corner, listening to his boys and the workers slosh around and whisper and call out to him. His skin was cold, but he wasn't. Every nerve was on fire. His feet slid in the muck, and he went to his knees; but he didn't care, just pushed himself forward. He was halfway through the gate when he froze, eyes latched onto the scene. He swallowed.

He saw three workers – one holding a light, the other gently holding Delta's front arms, knee-high in mud. Delta was hardly moving, making whimpering noises, hissing softly. He could see her eyes were barely responsive, and she was hardly alert. It puzzled him – she'd been fine that morning, or so he had thought –

\- No, she hadn't been at breakfast that morning. She'd been missing when he'd dropped food off, he knew that – he had decided to go in and run over her physical for some new medication. Delta had always been the sickly girl of the pack, but it had never really shown in her behaviours, he'd just known it from her gene sequences and what Wu had told him when she'd been hatched.

Owen felt as if he were seizing he was shaking so hard. He watched the workers from the corner of his eye, but his vision was clamped down at the woman at Delta's head, who was cooing to her gently, hands shaking, as she took a pen light and checked the animal's eyes.

Marianne.

The other worker was scribbling notes hard and fast on a soggy clipboard with soaked paper, doing his best to keep it dry under an umbrella cradled in his arm awkwardly. Owen's hair dripped into his face as the felt the cage rattle – he looked left.

Zach and Grey, Claire's nephews, were staring at the animal – frozen in place. The eldest one was blanched, his hands trembling. Owen knew it wasn't from the cold. The other, younger boy was staring wide – eyed at the scene, a look of wonder and amazement on his face. Owen could see the boyishness in him rise to an ultimate, and he knew the boy was captivated. Stone cold and staring, no one even noticed them, until Owen was staring and another whipped a look to the boys.

"Hey, you two!" It was Silas, his accent rushing over the wind and pounding rain. He turned and stalked around the corner, Owen rising from his mucky knees to lunge for Silas. He grabbed the man's wrist and locked eyes with him.

"It's okay – they're with me," he pulled a thumb into his chest and burst into the observation cage. Dropping to his knees beside Delta's head, Marianne whipped a look at him – her hair had fallen out of its bun and hung in strands around her face. She had a streak of mud running along her eye, and she stared at him hard – her eyes were icy, cold, and hurting. He wanted to make them change, change to something warmer, happier.

"What happened?" He was purely business, not willing to drag their personal problems into the situation. His hands dipped beneath Delta's head, and he dipped to whisper to her, telling her it was okay. He kissed her rough skin and looked up to Marianne. The animal's body relaxed instantly, "It's okay, sweetheart. I'm here," his eyes were locked with Marianne's, who was staring at him with a mixture of compassion, forgiveness, confusion, and rage.

The rain was pouring in sheets, the wind chilling him down to his core. He didn't care. The workers around him waited for Marianne's response, obvious baited by his questions. He watched her swallow and look away, her hands still shivering. She was entirely covered in muck again, but he swore he'd never seen anything so…attractive. When he didn't get an answer for her, she turned away; and he quickly reached out and grabbed her wrist hard. She froze.

"Marianne."

. . .

He said her name it sounded like bourbon, poured over her freezing body and soothing her core. She was staring into his eyes again and she was gone from the world – lost in him and trying to find out who this man was that was playing with her heart.

She'd been out here forever – cursed him for not being the first on scene. She'd had no idea what to do, but had done the basics. She understood basic first aid, and she had checked Delta's breathing and for any signs of infection and bleeding – it was hard in the rain, as it kept everything wet. Delta's breathing had been labored and rough and she'd been sluggish in her eyes and movement. It had pitched Marianne's heart and made her eyes pool with tears – thank God for the rain, or everyone would've seen she was crying.

Delta had calmed slightly once the other three raptors had left. It had been eerily quiet, and Marianne had taken to talking to the animal during her assessment. With everyone watching her, she knew they probably though she was insane, but she hadn't cared. Delta had locked gazes with her for a few times, Marianne assuring her she would be okay that Owen would be there soon. At his name the animal had seemed to relax – apparently he had the same affect on all women in general?

Marianne knew her heart was breaking. She could feel it in her chest – it had to have been, otherwise her chest wouldn't be burning with fire and simmering with sorrow. She couldn't let this animal – this beautiful, astounding animal – lie here by herself, despite Briggs' and Silas' warnings. She hadn't heeded their warnings, and had paid for it – Delta had sliced her with her talon across the leg, but she hadn't cared – it wasn't enough to worry about.

She looked at Delta – her eyes cried out for help. They were scared, alone, and sickly – she was dying of something and they didn't know what. It killed Marianne inside. She couldn't let her die – she didn't know her, hadn't gotten to know her! She hadn't gotten to study her or document her patterns or know her habits; she hadn't gotten to interact with her and see how she responded to a female presence. She hadn't documented bone structure, movement fluidity, hunting and preying patterns. She'd done nothing with this raptor, and she desperately wanted to. It cried out within her soul. Marianne wanted so badly what Owen had with these animals – to have them respect her and understand her, to communicate with her.

Marianne clicked the pen light and stuffed it into the pocket of his vest, "I don't know what happened," she shook her head, voice slightly shaky, "B-Barry came to get me. Said she was h-hurt," she was freezing, but she didn't show it, and she reached for the stethoscope around the charting worker's neck. She pressed it to the animal's chest, "I'm not a doctor, but her breathing isn't good, Owen."

He nodded, "Okay," he whipped around and pointed at Briggs, "Go get the truck," To Silas and the others, "We've got to get her out of the rain or she's gunna get pneumonia." They all nodded and filed into the area, taking positions around the animal. Briggs came roaring out of the garage with the truck a few moments later, and backed up the truck to the gate. They lifted on three and loaded the animal carefully. Owen stepped up into the bed of the truck, sitting against the back and placing Delta's sluggish head in his lap.

The workers began to disband, cleaning up the observation deck, tending to other jobs. Marianne slammed the tailgate, hustled around to the driver's side, not noticing two figures climb into the cab. She pulled herself into the warm cab and froze when she saw two figures buckling up – on in the crew cab, the other in the passenger's. Her brow furrowed.

"Aren't you –"

" - Claire's nephews, yeah; I'm Zach, he's Grey – what's going on?" It was so fast and unorganized that it tossed her brain like a mixed salad. She shook her head slightly to try and make it settle, but it didn't. Instead, she yanked the truck into drive, slammed the accelerator, and tore off for the resort, spraying mud as she did so. Whipping a look over her shoulder, she saw Owen glancing at her, yelling at her and pounding the glass to go, go, go.

"The raptor is sick," Marianne pieced together for the two boys, who were turned in their seats watching Owen, "And we're going to get her some help," She pounded the gas, fighting the rain, wipers whipping as hard as they could. Her heart was pounding so fast it was making it hard to think and breathe, "How did you two get out here?"

"Owen brought us," the little boy, Grey, responded, "He was supposed to take us back to Aunt Claire. Who're you?" His gazed was fixed on her now, and it was slightly unnerving. Marianne tucked some hair behind her ear and gripped the wheel with both hands.

"Uh," she backpedalled, "Marianne. I work with Owen."

He quipped, "You his girlfriend?"

She hit a pothole, which she couldn't see through the sheets of rain. Her teeth chattered together and she slowed down a bit, glancing over her shoulder. Blood was pumping heavily so heavily through her ears she thought they had turned into aqueducts. Owen glanced at her through the back window, waving her on. She whipped a quick look to the little boy before turning back towards the road.

"No, I'm not." She retorted bitingly. Setting her jaw, she clamped her top teeth on her bottom lip and drove on, hands like a steel vice on the wheel. She felt them staring at her but she didn't care - they were kids. There was silence, save their breathing, until they arrived at the veterinarian building back in the resort. The windows were fogged in the car, and it was turning into a greenhouse.

Marianne slammed the brakes, the tires skidding in the dirt and water, whipping to a stop outside the building. She unclicked her belt and turned to the boys, both her hands pointing a finger at them. She quickly glanced between the two boys.

"Alright. Stay here, I'll be right back."

They said nothing and she slipped out of the truck, her boots landing hard on the dirt, sloshing in a puddle and sending cool, muddy water up her ankles and deep into her boots. She didn't care, instead came around to the bed of the truck and hoisted herself up the side, using the tire for support to lean over the edge. She locked eyes with Owen, blinking furiously to dispel raindrops off her eyelashes.

Owen, thoroughly soaked, held up a hand – it was soaked with oozing blood and her heart pitched. She almost fell off the side of the truck. "She's bleeding out of her mouth," he called over the rain, "something's wrong in her abdomen!"

Marianne nodded, "What do you think it is?" She whipped her soaking hair out of the way. Rain was pooling in the back of the truck, but Owen didn't seem to care. He moved away from Delta, and came over to her side of the truck, kneeling before her. She slipped of the side of the bed and stared up at him, her hands cold and her stomach doing flips. They shared a stare for a moment.

He didn't answer her initial question. "I'm sorry about what happened," he darted his gaze away, only to shake his hands out, water flicking off them in all direction. He looked back to her instantly, his eyes filling with sorrow and regret. Her mouth parched despite the vast amounts of rain, "I-I didn't mean to give you the cold shoulder." His voice dropped to that low, smooth tone again and he glanced at her, "Are you up to forgiving me or do you want to hate me forever?"

She stepped back from the truck, trying to suppress a giggle. She stared at him for a long moment, the world around her forgotten. He was apologizing? Asking forgiveness – _her_ forgiveness? That had never happened to her before, and hope flared within her, starting from her toes and running heat all throughout her body. He was actually sorry. He knew he'd done something wrong and was actually apologizing for it. And, to top that – he was asking forgiveness! Marianne couldn't believe it. How could she mad at him when he was so humbly asking for her pardon? She nodded at him, sloshed towards the tailgate, and glanced up at him again. "Far be it from me to hold a grudge. I suppose I can forgive you." The corner of her lips upturned in a cocky, half smile, and she dropped the tailgate. "Just don't make it a habit."

He gave her a light, half smile, and positioned himself next to Delta again, sitting on the wheel-well of the truck's bed. She backed up from the tailgate and pulled her thumb towards the area of the door. "I'll go get Neela and Peter," she called over her shoulder, already taking the stairs two at a time.

She burst through the doors after scanning her badge the place quiet and shut down for the evening. She checked her watch – it was already after seven. "Hello! Anybody! Please, I need help!" Her voice echoed off the stillness of the building, and she called louder, "Dr. Bartlett!" She moved past the front desk, down the hallway to the examination room for the smaller animals. "Hello! Dr. Bartlett? Anyone!?"

A light flicked on in the back room, and a shadow bobbed against the wall. She moved faster down the hallway, jogging now, her body squishing and heavy with water. "Dr. Bartlett –"

Sure enough, he came around the corner, looking dishevelled and exhausted. He was fixing his lab-coat and his stethoscope was hanging around his neck, the bell clapping against his collar bone. He stopped, gave her a confused look, and reached out for her arm, "Miss Randal – are you ok? What's the problem?"

She hadn't realized she was panting and crying all at once, but he had, and it drew her attention to her emotional state. She swallowed and grabbed his hand with her own wet, dirty one and yanked him down the hallway, walking briskly, "Come, please – hurry!"

They bolted into the rain, Bartlett stopping at the tailgate. Marianne gasped, covering her mouth with her hands at the sight. Her heart stopped beating for a moment and she staggered, having to grasp the side of the truck to stabilize herself.

Owen, now thoroughly soaked in not only mud and water, was wiping oozing blood onto his vest. He looked pale, exhausted, and cold, but he bent to his knees and waved Marianne up, "She's bleeding bad, Annie. Something's wrong. We have to get her inside,"

"Let me go get the lift truck and we'll take her inside. I think it's a GI bleed," Bartlett said quickly. He turned and hustled back up the steps. Marianne pulled herself up into the truck and lowered herself down next to Delta, who whined and hissed exhaustedly. Her eyes, still sluggish, were focused on Marianne.

"It's okay, Delta sweetie. We're gunna get you fixed up," Marianne sniffled now, water running off her nose and the ends of her hair on the animal's body. She stroked Delta's nose, the animal's mouth parting slightly to call out in a gargle. A stream of blood exited between glistening teeth and Marianne wiped her hand along her jaw to clean it up. The animal whined again, this time in almost a childlike whimper. Marianne raised her eyes to Owen's and swallowed. He looked just as concerned and terrified as she felt. She continually stroked Delta's nose, cooing the animal. "Shh, honey. It's okay. Shh. We're coming."

Within moments Bartlett returned, and after much heaving and pushing, they managed to get Delta onto the lift truck. Bartlett looked between them, now wet and cold and dripping with a blood-stained jacket. He pulled a penlight between Delta's eyes and checked her reflexes, "She's slow. How long she been like this?"

"I was with her about half an hour and I don't know how long before then," Marianne responded, her voice shaking. Whether it was from the cold or from her fear she didn't know. Thunder cracked overhead and lightning brightened the sky, the wind whipping more debri around their feet and across the resort square. Bartlett nodded his head as he weighed out his options.

"Let's take her back. I'll have to work her up if she's gunna need surgery." He motioned between them, then to the truck. "Looks like you two have company?" He questioned. Both of them looked to the truck to find Grey and Zach had smeared the foggy windows to watch them. Marianne nodded to Owen, who was panting, wiping at his moustache to dispel water from it.

"You go," Owen nodded, "I'll get the boys and get the truck." He hustled towards the driver's side, and waved them off before Marianne could insist he go with Delta. But, he was up and tearing away before she could even form words. Turning to Bartlett, she found him already pulling himself up into the truck and motioning for her to come.

. . .

Her eyes were cold and calculating as they watched above the tops of the enclosure wall. It moved slowly, mechanically inward towards the shrubs and foliage, which were slick and dripping water. Her eyes narrowed at the meal coming forward, her stomach moving in hungry, her claws twitching in anticipation.

The arm lurched downward uncharacteristically, and she followed it until she realized it was no longer able to be visualized on the other side of the barrier. Tipping her head to the side only slightly, she took a step forward towards the meal, shaking the earth. How had it gotten inside so easily? If it could, couldn't she move over the wall as well? And why wasn't it alive?

She smelled the arm, instantly recoiling – she liked the old way better, the smaller things coming into the enclosure and dropping her meals off. She liked them better because they moved quickly and were always scared – she could smell it and feel it inside of her. She liked watching their movements, planning her mode of attack on her prey. Just when she'd figured out how she would do it, they'd stopped sending in the little things and had started with this arm. She looked towards the wall again, moving towards it slowly. She tipped her head to the side.

Maybe she could climb it, if this arm could.

In an instantly, she slashed her arm out and her claws slid against the rough, hard substance. No, it was too slick to move. She looked around to see if anything was watching her. Maybe if she tried climbing out, those little things would return? Maybe.

Just maybe.


	22. Part II: The Exodus

**Part II: The Exodus**

The battlefield is a scene of constant chaos. The winner will be the one who controls that chaos, both his own and the enemies. -Napoleon Bonaparte

Extinction is the rule. Survival is the exception. -Carl Sagan

The ultimate value of life depends upon awareness and the power of contemplation rather than upon mere survival. -Aristotle

In his hand is the life of every living thing and the breath of all mankind.-Psalm 22:28

For kingship belongs to the Lord, and he rules over the nations. –Job 12:10


	23. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

Marianne watched numbly from her place in chairs, a heavy blanket draped across her shoulders. It had absorbed the water from not only her skin, but it taken the water from her clothes to, and now did little to warm her body as she sat in the dark lobby as she took in the scene across the way, towards the hallway, where Dr. Bartlett was showing an ultrasound tape and an MRI reading to a staff which had gathered quickly at his calls.

Owen came barrelling through the door thirty minutes after he'd left with the truck the boys, thoroughly soaked and chilled. He looked exhausted, and terrified, but the way he approached her when he'd seen her would say otherwise. He had a commanding aura about him as he filled the chair area with his presence, taking in her form, which had to have been pathetic. She'd been crying ever since she'd been separated from Delta and receiving the news that she'd perforated her stomach.

Marianne was bent at the waist, hands clasped between her knees, blanket heavy on her shoulders. She watched the floor numbly now, feeling Owen staring at her and causing her stomach and her feminine instincts whirl around her head. He crouched on his legs and she looked up at him slightly. He gave her a lopsided smile, all confidence, and she found him honourable for putting a brave front on for her when his eyes betrayed his aura. She knew he was terrified for Delta.

"You ok?" He asked softly. She nodded, even though it was partially a lie. She hated this feeling of not knowing – she felt partially responsible. She'd been down in the muck on her knees, looking for something to do, praying for some answer. She hadn't even thought to call the vet, all she'd thought about was Owen and his being there at the paddock. There, Delta had been dying, and she was so unnerved she could've killed the animal.

He smelled of rain, dirt, and jungle and she inhaled it deeply. Closing her eyes, it settled her nerves in her body. She exhaled slowly, standing from her chair, the blanket dropping off her shoulders and into her chair. She retrieved it and slung it around Owen's shoulders to take the chill off. "You look cold," she croaked, her voice hoarse. She rubbed her eyes and then rubbed her arms.

"I'm ok," he shrugged, pulling the blanket tighter around his arms. He scanned over her with his eyes, and Marianne looked past him towards the group of doctor's which were now dispersing. Her body tensed and her stomach flopped over as Dr. Bartlett approached, gowned in a operating uniform, mask hanging around his neck.

"Dr. Bartlett," Owen extended his hand for the man to shake, the other holding the blanket in place. Marianne joined them and wrapped her arms around her chest, watching and waiting. It felt as if her entire body had been thrown onto a bed of needles, pricking at her nerves and unsettling her composure. She sniffled, swiped at her eyes, and Dr. Bartlett shook Owen's hand. "Good to see you again."

"Owen. Good to see you as well, despite the circumstances." He gave Marianne a sympathetic smile, and reached out to rub her shoulder, "You did the right thing, you two. If you'd have waited, she'd have bled out and, well," he rubbed the back of his neck, "That wouldn't have been good." He sighed and puffed out a breath, "We're headed into surgery. It will take a few hours, as the perforation is extent." He shrugged a shoulder, "But, Delta is a healthy animal, despite her pre-existing conditions, and she should do wonderfully. I'm not concerned," he clapped his hands together, "I suggest you two get something to eat and change out of those wet clothes."

Marianne's brow dropped into a wrinkle, stepping toward him, shaking her head. Confusion befuddled her mind. He didn't sound concerned – at all. That terrified her to the point where she thought she'd be sick. "Wait. I thought a perforation was a big deal. You don't sound the least bit concerned." Her worries formulated into a verbal statement.

He shook his head, "Not at all. Miss Randal, perforations have become quite common among these animals, a frequent occurrence. We get them all the time," he shrugged a shoulder and waved them to the front desk, where he began writing on a pen and paper from his gown pockets, "I believe it has something to do with the lysine we put into their food and water supply, but that's Wu's department, not mine. I just fix them up, document the cases, and present them at the awareness meetings," he tore off the paper and handed it to Owen, who glanced at it.

Marianne wasn't convinced. "But, I –"

He stopped her with a chuckle, "Everything will be fine, Miss Randal. Delta is a strong girl. She will be fine." He clapped her shoulder, rubbed it briefly, and then looked to Owen, "Neela still has your number so she'll call you when we're finished. In the meantime, get some dry clothes on and get something to eat. Being here won't make surgery go any faster." He smiled at them, and turned, heading towards the entrance to the hallways.

Marianne heard him call for a size eight gloves, before his footfalls were silenced – most likely fading into an operating room. Stress pulled at her body in every direction, and she rolled her eyes, exasperated. Her heart ached, knowing Delta was in pain and alone in there, having to undergo a surgery. Dr. Bartlett had mentioned earlier she'd be laid up for at least a week, if not longer, and have more medication to go on. The thoughts aggravated Marianne to the point where she wanted to slam her fist into the wall. She sighed, rubbed her forehead and leaned against the admin desk of the vet building.

Owen, sensing her unease, shrugged, "Well," he sighed, "all we can do is wait."

Marianne nodded and sighed again. She rubbed her eyes, a chill dashing across her skin and riddling her muscles. Her stomach grumbled uncharacteristically, and she let her arms fall to her chest again, where she crossed them. She looked at him, "I guess so. That's the hard part."

He chuckled, "Yeah. Well, you heard the man – let's go get something to eat, huh? I'm starving." He shrugged off the blanket and tossed it behind the desk, turning for the door. Her resolved snapped at that moment and she stomped after him, grabbing his arm and bringing him around. Surprised, he faced her, one hand on the door. Thunder cracked outside, lightning illuminating the building through the rain-streaked window.

"You're serious? How can you eat at a time like this?" Her voice was filled with disbelief as she imagined her face was too. She was frowning and he chuckled at her, shrugging a shoulder and jerking his thumb towards the truck he'd parked at the stairs. The rain had lightened, but the wind was still evident, whipping fronds and debri from the jungle around the resort square. It was overcast and dark in the sky.

"'Cause I'm hungry," he said, grabbing her wrist. "Come on. We'll quick eat something and come back. Delta is gunna be fine – Peter's the best doc on the island, Annie. He's been with Delta since day one." He grinned at her, "Besides. I know you're hungry too." Without further word, he pulled her out the door and they hurried down the steps. They arrived at the truck, hopping inside.

Owen started it quickly, turned the wheel ferociously, and threw the truck into drive. Marianne rested against the passenger door, her back to it, resting her head against the cool glass. She breathed steadily, watching him head out of the resort. She was about to protest, but then remembered they were going to change clothes first. Inhaling deeply, she exhaled slowly and let her muscles relax. Closing her eyes.

She only opened them to find the truck still, unmoving. It was quiet, and she looked to the keys through blurry eyes, to find the vehicle was off. It was warm, the windows fogged over, and it had stopped raining, and when she smeared the front windshield in front of her, she found it was misting outside. Popping open the door, she slipped down out of the truck and took in her surroundings.

They'd parked at a bungalow, and she crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed them, the mist refreshing her skin despite the torrential downpours of the day. The fronts danced slightly as they received rain dripping from other plants above them, and she took in the scene. The bungalow, on a property with a lake and beautiful backdrop of jungle forestry in the distance, was homey and complete with an outbuilding, closed to public eye. She moved around tools, and parts, and abandoned motorcycle frames and engines and other miscellaneous objects littered around the front. The light was on in the kitchen of the bungalow.

She moved to the grass, planting her feet firmly there and breathing in the fresh air. Thunder rumbled somewhere overhead, but it was peaceful as the mist tickled her skin. She scanned the backdrop of the lake and realized how beautiful it was. It was quiet, save for the chirping of birds and the distant call of jungle life, but it soothed her.

She didn't hear the door open behind her, "Nice, ain't it?" The voice came from behind, startling her. She jolted, whirling around and placing a hand on her chest to catch her breath. She found Owen, padding towards the railing of the bungalow's deck, a mug of coffee at hand.

Dressed in a green button down and brown cargo pants, he was clean and showered, looking dashing and insanely comfortable. She regretted her appearance, that of a drowned rat and a sleep deprived monster, and she tapped her boots together to dispel whatever mud and rainwater was left – they felt heavy on her feet. She answered his question, "Yeah, it is. I'm jealous."

"No view at your place?"

She snorted, "Unless you call dense jungle foliage much of a view, not really." They both chuckled together, and a chill overtook her body as a breeze came floating in to disturb them. He sipped his coffee, the steam circling around his face. He gestured to her and then pulled his thumb towards the bungalow.

"I made some coffee. Come on inside and I'll see if I can get you a dry shirt and some socks," He gestured to the house with his head and turned away from the railing. He moved inside, the screen door slapping back into place uncharacteristically. Marianne turned and took in the view again, before heavily climbing the deck steps and opening the door.

She stepped inside and removed her boots. Raising, she looked around – a typical bachelor pad. Decorated in hunting paraphernalia and Navy memorabilia, it was decently organized and somewhat clean. He had pictures on the wall and curtains at least, a full sized couch and recliner in the corner with a flat-screen TV. It was much different than her bungalow – more personalized and lived in, she assumed, and not so modern and sparse.

There was a beaten up guitar in the corner, magazines on the coffee table beside an abandoned glass and plate with a fork, and there was a basket of laundry on the recliner. A gun cleaning kit was on the end-table next to the couch, and a bookcase in need of cleaning possessed a few pieces of literature and mostly textbooks. Binoculars and a journal with a pen were sitting on the third shelf. She peered into the hallway, which was dark.

"You take anything in your coffee?" He called into the living room. She turned on heel and padded into the kitchen, stopping to take in the scene. He kicked the fridge door closed slightly, and moved to the island, a bottle of creamer at hand. Past him was a counter, clean; the sink filled on partially with dirty dishes. The stove was clean and had a pot and skillet on top, beside it a shelf with cookbooks. Hanging above the island was a rack of other cookware. The table was kept decently, only slightly full with mail and other pieces of paperwork.

"No," she shook her head. He nodded, setting the bottle on the counter after having poured it into his cup. He turned to put it back in the fridge and she stood awkwardly on the other side of the island.

"I wouldn't have guessed you were a black kinda girl," He chuckled, turning back to her. He lifted the mug and handed it to her, Marianne taking it and wrapping her fingers around it. She was still filthy, but she was grateful for coffee, and she shrugged a shoulder.

"And I wouldn't have pegged you as a creamer type of guy," she quelled. He nodded in agreement and took a drink, eyes latched onto her. She lifted the coffee to her lips and breathed in the steam, letting it soothe her worries and melt the iciness of her aching muscles. It warmed her skin, and she took a long drink. It burned a trail down her throat and settled in her belly, feeling good and warm.

They sat in awkward silence, staring at one another. Marianne took in his presence. Let her eyes wander over him, memorizing every detail like she always did every day, her chest burning. He had to have been the most beautiful man she'd ever seen, with the prettiest eyes. Marianne let her gaze drop when she thought about what had happened at the bottom of the hill.

She didn't blame him for what happened. She was a plain girl, a bit heavy, and that really never went over swell with men. Nick hadn't really cared when she was in college, but then again Nick was a laid-back kind of guy that was interested in money and whatever a woman would give him. Marianne had never been the prettiest bulb on the tree, and she was okay with that, for the most part. She'd grown up a tom – boy, strong and smart and quick to talk and even quicker to work. She knew that didn't go over good for guys like Owen, as he was good looking he knew it. He captured the attention of every girl he came in contact with, she was sure. Her father had always told her she'd end up with a hard working man, a man that would respect her ability to work and work hard, and who wouldn't care about what she looked like, but that would be more interested in her abilities.

Her mother, on the other hand, had promised her the heart knew the heart, and that it wanted what it wanted. She'd always said men never really had a choice when it came to women, because love struck like a plague: it was unprejudiced and no respecter of persons. She'd compared it to a supernova: sudden, explosive, and so powerful it shook the bonds of time and was earth-shattering. She'd said it was a beautiful, strong thing that was unbreakable no matter how hard men and women tried. That it didn't matter what you looked like or who you were, it just happened with the right person that a woman would know as soon as she laid eyes on a man that he was the one. That it would be unshakable, this person, and that no matter what you did you'd never fully be rid of them.

Heat flared through her chest, and blood pumped hot through her ears and blossomed onto her nose. He smiled at her. It was like delicious poison that was slowly paralyzing her from her feet up, seizing her heart in a slow death grip that she didn't want to let go. There, in her place on the stool in his kitchen, Marianne knew she wanted this man. She knew he was going to kiss her at the bottom of the hill regardless of what she looked like, regardless of the fact that he knew she was argumentative and quick to challenge him and was his complete and utter opposite.

The thought scared the living daylights out of her. They _were_ so different. He was cocky immature, always shooting for the moon. A man that was bent on action and refused to take no for an answer, that would jump hurdles prematurely and be quick about it. She was outgoing and a spit-fire, always butting heads, opinionated and stubborn, always challenging his train of thought and reading his mind, which she knew frustrated him beyond belief. They both were passionate, both quick to teach, both far too clever and quick to jibe.

It was terrifying – but it excited her. From her place she studied his body, taking in the fine details. Marianne knew in that moment she wanted him. Wanted him to brush aside her curls, wanted him to give in to her. Her lips began to tingle at the thought of their would-be kiss, her body began to flare with heat. Her inner core began to quiver as she remembered his hands on her face, pulling her close, wanting her – she died for them to find her again, to move along her body slowly, to fill the gaps programmed into every woman for a man. Marianne had never seen a man naked, much less slept with one, but she craved feeling his firm build under her hands, running along every fine detail. She wanted to feel her fingertips on his skin, all the imperfections falling into perfection along her hands, adventurous and willing. She wanted to taste him, to know him, to please him. She wanted what every other woman in the world craved, and she wanted it badly. She wanted him to desire her, to love her, to kiss her in every way imaginable. It was making her dizzy. As much as she didn't want to care that he'd turned away she did, but it was overcome with so much more than that.

She wanted to prove him wrong, to show him that she was more woman than he'd ever dreamt of. To show him she wasn't all arguments wasn't all stubbornness and thick-headedness. That she was a woman who craved him, who couldn't live one more minute without his hands on her emotions. She wanted to show him that he _liked_ her challenge, her spunk, and her ability to think on his level and be his equal. She wanted to show him that everything he knew about her was not only wrong, but that is deliciously wrong, and that he liked it, that they were entirely opposite but it was so perfect.

Her heart quavered in her chest, heat flushing her body of all colour. Her core rumbled around her, pushing her to do something, _anything_ to signal him. But, her pride kept her anchored and as reserved as a wallflower. She wouldn't beg for this. If he was going to kiss her and want her, than he was going to do it, and do it willingly. Marianne took another drink of coffee, letting the strong smell swirl around her senses – but all she ended up smelling was cologne, jungle, and bike exhaust wafting throughout his house. It sent her dizzying in her stool, and she had to slap a hand on the counter to snap her out of it.

He set his mug on the counter, and rounded around the island. He rubbed at the back of his neck and gestured for the hallway. He seemed nervous, his eyes flighty. Maybe he'd sensed her, what she was thinking, maybe he'd read into something in her eyes. She studied his face, realizing it was a bit red, "You want to take a shower, because you're welcome to it if you want –" Without thinking, she put her mug on the counter with a quick thunk. He froze when she grabbed his wrist roughly.

He looked at her hand wrapped around his wrist, her eyes to the floor, adrenaline lacing through her body. She was all instinct now, all territory she'd never ventured to within herself before. It was terrifying but it felt so fantastic she couldn't imagine ever going back to the same Marianne again, couldn't think past this moment and what she wanted. She lifted her head to find him staring at her, his eyes now furiously searching her own, and he moved towards her.

The silence was bliss, but it was so tense she could've cut the air with a piece of paper. He moved closer and her inside began to crumble, her stomach dropping into her feet and her heart melting into her ribcage. Her brain was so befuddled she couldn't have argued if the sky was blue or pink polka dotted. Her mouthed parched and he moved a hand to rest yet again along her jaw line, the energy soaring throughout her body. Heat exploded into her belly and she felt it cascade down her nerves and muscles. She looked up at him, his face soft but with confusion etched onto his brow.

"Marianne Randal, what are you doing to me?" He breathed, his voice floating down around her like pixie dust, sending her in a million different places. It was sweet like honey, but heavy like darkness, and she craved his next words, pleading with him in her brain to keep going. He was going to say it and she knew it. She couldn't wait for it anymore, couldn't imagine her life without it anymore. For four weeks she'd been dreaming of him, been fantasizing what this moment would feel like, been hoping and praying he'd come to see her as a woman – a perfect woman. "I…I haven't been able to get you out of my head since you got here."

She could hardly form words, but somehow managed to push out a squeak in a response as her throat constricted. Terror began to pool in her stomach, but it was instantly replaced a microsecond later as satisfaction and pleasure began running a race through her veins. Questions popped into her mind like popcorn: he'd been thinking about here? All this time? And he hadn't said anything? So she'd been right about the hill – he was going to kiss her on his own accord! It excited her, and she no longer cared about anything else, just this moment. "You have?" she whispered. She felt cemented to the stool.

He took the hand she still possessed and interlaced their fingers, running his thumb across her cheek, which she knew was still dirty with mud. He scanned her eyes, took in her face and her body, moving aside her damp curls. He gave her a sultry half smile that sent her stomach roaring in a herd of fluttering butterflies which churned her blood. "Yeah, Marianne; I have."

She smiled, giggling in her place, joy exploding in her soul. She felt warm, all over, and she couldn't have been sad if she had tried. She scanned his eyes – such beautiful, honourable eyes – and found him somewhere inside, creeping through the doors of his heart, ready to come out of the dark places and say it. He didn't care – there, in his eyes, she knew he didn't truly care about what she looked like. She felt safe, though exposed, in his shadow. " I –"

"Not now," he shook his head, releasing her hand to put a finger to her lips. When she didn't protest, he smiled and chuckled, then let his hand fall into place along her face, now cupped his hands graciously. She lifted her hands and ran them over his arms, feeling all the intricate details, connecting their skin. Her eyes fluttered closed as he moved towards her, lowering his head. Her head automatically tipped to the side, all instinct, and her fingers gently dug into his firm arms, signalling him that he had better not let go of her.

And then in a whirl, he pressed his lips against her own, soft at first as if to bait her in. Her stomach did a whirl, like a dancer leaping across the stage; her heart, a swish, as if it were gliding across her chest. It sent her to her feet, now to stand from her stool, and as her head spun, the world around her began to fade into a dizzying array. She knew she was baited into this trap and had fallen for it, now a vicious cycle of passion and pleasure that neither one of them could've stopped.

Marianne had forgotten it had started so tenderly, because now it was voracious, as if thye were starving, unable to get enough. His insistent mouth was parting hers roughly, demanding, as his right hand moved from her face and to her shoulder, down her back and back up, where he used the left to drape her head back onto his arm. Flustered but no inexperienced, Marianne's hands left his arms, one arm snaking delicately around his neck, the other grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him into her. He put a strong step forward, preparing to brace over her – but she collapsed back onto the stool, pulling him down with her. And as much as she wanted to admit that he was kissing her, she knew she was kissing him back just as savagely.

He spun her around on the stool, just so her back would lean against the island, forcing her against it. Her chest was alive and pumping hard, her lungs gasping for breath which she denied them. His moustache tickeled her top lip delightfully, his lips tasting like rain and cologne, but soft like roses. It was like a battle, every hard kiss she gave him, he turned, unbreaking it. Realizing neither of them would give in, she broke off and gasped for air, letting her head fall back. He was staring at her, positioned over her neck as if he were going to bite her, his eyes wickedly blazing in a queer look that sent her knees rocking. The tremble in his arms around her body was inviting and evident, but terrified her, and they both panted for air, not saying a word.

A second later he kissed her again, this time moving his hands down her sides and along her hips, underneath her thighs. She kissed his forcefully, over and over, until in a burst of strength and speed he lifted her onto the island, her bending to meet him, hands on his jawline, her fingertips brushing against his unshaven face. Her hair had long since fallen out, bouncing around them in a wild dance of curl, and he took a strong arm and abruptly swept whatever was on the island off – resulting in everything crashing to the floor around them. They both ignored it, and he forced her onto the island, her complying. Before she could smack her head, he put a hand behind her head and helped her down carefully, breaking their kiss.

"You don't think – this – er –" he crawled onto the island over her, bracing himself above her, scanning her eyes wildly, queerly. She was breathing so hard she thought she'd suck the room in around her, but she didn't care. She shook her head from side to side as he positioned himself above her, her grabbing his collar again and cupping her hand along his jaw, almost pleading with him to come down again. "Marianne – "

She forced herself up into almost a sit up to silence him with her mouth, pushing back only to prop herself up on her elbows, "Would you just _shut up_?" She rumbled, bringing him down again. They kissed again, more savagely than before, possessing each other as if they were invading armies. He began untucking his shirt, and she instantly pulled back, shaking her head, "I'm _not_ sleeping with you, Owen. Just so you know that. I'm not that kind of girl."

He scanned her eyes and nodded like a child having something explained to them would, and he gave her a half smile. "I'm not that kind of guy," he teased her. She furrowed her brow but couldn't maintain it, giggling instead and allowing him to continue running his fingers through her hair. He chuckled, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," she shook her head, wrapping an arm around his neck. With the other hand she ran her fingers through his hair and he lowered to touch their foreheads together, "I was just wondering if that's the best you can do."

His brows rose and he pulled back, a look of mock surprise on his face. At this she giggled again and blushed. In an instant, he seized her shoulders and straddled her body, fully untucking his shirt and madly messing his hair. She full out laughed at him, pinned against the counter, and grabbed his hands, interlacing their fingers. "You haven't seen _anything_ yet, Randal. I'm barely getting started."

"And who said I was?"

He huffed and rolled his eyes, ducking to kiss her again, lifting her partially off the island, where she wrapped her arms around his neck. He again draped her neck on his arm, his other hand running along her hips and lower back, pressing her into him, where her body molded into his perfectly. Her heart began to jog again, belly pooling with warmth, and he parted their kiss, breathing, "Do you _always_ have to be so argumentative?"

"Only if I don't get my way," she huffed back, pushing her lips back onto his. He kissed her madly, harder with each breath, respectively holding and making her thoughts melt into jelly. She became lost in their scuffle, a modest romp that didn't result in anything other than hard kisses, nothing ever leaving the lips, nothing ever venturing farther than she was willing to go.

And it was glorious.


	24. Chapter Twenty

**Author's Note:** Holy! I guess I didn't realize you all were waiting on pins and needles for the big moment! From what I'm reading, I'm glad you all like the idea of Owen and Marianne finally coming out of the closet with their feelings and that it doesn't feel too fast. I figured they'd better define their relationship before the big catastrophe happens, otherwise that's just too much drama.

Also, note: I've been binge writing this because I have my other story, _Stainless Steele_ (The Expendables), I need to catch up on. Also, I'm in the process of writing a screenplay, so that is a priority as well. So, I updated this a bunch because I'm gunna focus my attention on those for awhile. Fret not, because this isn't on hiatus or on hold - I just need a break for awhile to catch up on other stuff.

Thanks for your reviews, keep 'em coming!

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty**

"You're not doing it right,"

"I know how to blue a gun, Owen."

Owen crossed his arms behind his head, propping his foot up on his knee, leaning back deeply into the couch. He watched the woman, sitting cross – legged on the floor, run a greasy and oily rag along the barrel of his rifle. He smirked as her concentration piqued, and chuckled when a bit of the blue speckled itself on the shirt he'd borrowed her for the evening. A piece of curl around her face fell into her concentration, and she jerked her head to move it out of the way.

His lips were still burning from their romp, his legs weak to the point where he wondered if he could even stand properly without falling over. His chest was still constricted, and his heart alive as if it had been dead all his life, only now living and pumping. The swimming of his head and somewhat cleared, instead leaving behind a hazy thought cloud running circles through his conscience, leaving confusion and utter compliance.

What had happened? He'd gone from completely being befuddled by her to being one hundred percent at her pleasure, in less than an hour. Was it just today that she'd stalked away from him, angry and upset, with hurt in her eyes because of his stupid, childish behaviour? It didn't feel like it. Actually, Owen would've sworn it felt like an eternity ago, because now all he could think about was every part of her, and how she's just fallen into his kiss helplessly, returned them hungrily, desired him entirely. It swirled around his mind like a torrent hurricane.

All his misgivings had melted away when she'd grabbed his arm in the kitchen, her eyes searching his own – so open, vulnerable, and giving. He'd locked eyes with her and he'd unravelled, every part of him had come undone inside. It was it someone had taken a knife and carved up his core, tossing out everything he knew about himself, every reservation, every wall. She'd busted through like a warrior breaking through a barricade, staving off his misgivings and presumptions.

He had never experienced such kissing before than he had with Marianne. Owen had never known someone to be so intricate, to be so detailed as he kissed her – she told him everything without saying anything. He knew what she wanted when she wanted it and what to do without even having to ask her. They'd just communicated; fell into the dance as if they'd been doing it their entire lives. Every part of her had felt right in his arms, every part of her fit into him – nothing mattered. He didn't care about anything other than her – she was perfect, right down to her soul, and even then he'd dare to challenge her as she'd reached inside him and taken every part of his emotions captive. He'd never experienced something so perfect in his entire life.

She was far more than he'd imagined. How had he been so foolish to judge the book by its cover?

And now, he was entirely captivated a she watched her run the bluing rag over the rifle's barrel; smoothly, with steady hands, as if she'd been doing it her whole life. He recalled that she'd said her brother was a gunsmith, so she'd probably been trained into it since childhood. But, watching her hands, the activity became lost as all he could think about was those hands on his person, roaming and pulling and gripping for more, never satisfied, always modest and pure. It made him dizzy.

So dizzy, in fact, he got to his feet and moved into the kitchen. "You want a beer or something?" He called, rounding the corner. He stood against the wall and let his head fall back onto it, closing his eyes and trying to slow his emotions: he was falling for her, and he was falling fast. Owen hadn't realized it, but he was, and it was scaring him to death.

"Not really," she called into the kitchen from her place on the floor, "But if you have an orange or something I'll have that." He nodded to himself, yanked open the fridge, and bent to retrieve a beer, orange, and bottle of water. Kicking it closed, popped the top of the bottle, and she came around the corner quickly, rubbing her hands around a new, clean towel. He extended the orange and bottle of water to her in a hand, "Thanks." She smiled at him.

She cracked open the bottle of water and tossed the cap on the island, which they had cleaned up since their romp. He seated himself on the counter by the sink and she slipped into the same barstool. She got up, staring at the orange, and moved around the island.

"Spoon?" She asked.

"Second drawer to the left," he pointed. She nodded, opened it swiftly, plucked out a spoon, and closed it with her hip. She set to peeling the orange, leaning against the counter, concentration piqued again. Finally, she managed to peel off a piece and popped it into her mouth.

"Owen," she sighed, "We should talk."

He nodded. He'd known this was coming, as soon as he'd kissed her, he knew it. The defining – their – relationship talk. Really, Owen had no idea what their relationship was anymore, beside the fact that they were colleagues. He wasn't sure if this meant they were dating, or together, or what. All he knew was she was standing in his kitchen in his shirt, eating an orange, looking more beautiful than he imagined. He took another drink, the beer trailing smoothly down his throat. "Yeah, we probably should."

She crossed her arms, orange still at hand. "Where does this put us?" She stared straight ahead, a blank look on her face. Her brow wrinkled slightly and he hopped off the counter, setting the beer next to the sink. She sounded terrified, and by the way she looked at him, he knew something was wrong. Something told him this was territory not unfamiliar with her, that it had been travelled before, taken too lightly. He wondered who the guy had been, and where he was now. He leaned against the island, no across from her, and planted his feet, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I dunno," he shrugged, "where does it put you?"

She furrowed her brow at him, "This isn't just about me," she interjected quickly, fiddling with the peel of the orange, "This is about _us. We_ kissed. _We._ Two. Plural." She held up two fingers to stress her point. He smiled at her, grinning like a schoolboy and looked away shyly.

"We did a lot more than kiss," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. They'd necked, made – out like he'd never had before: a lot more than just a simple kiss. Though it hadn't turned into anything beyond that – anything sexual – it had still been something; something defining that he didn't think he could just let go. Now he was interested in her, curious, and that was something Owen Grady couldn't be for long. He would know her and God help him, he would find out everything about her.

She glared at him, "I know," her voice was quiet and somewhat scared. She looked down at the orange. She rolled it around in her hands and sighed. "Owen. I'm not sure what you're looking for," she looked up at him and set the orange on the counter, raising her stained hands to her hair and running them along her scalp, "but I'm twenty six years old –"

His chest tightened. "What?"

She furrowed her brow again, "I'm twenty-six?" Her question was hesitant, as if she'd just stepped onto a limb and had to reconsider it. He puffed out a breathe and nodded, shifting his weight on his feet. He closed his eyes and covered them with his hands, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Well," he began, "it's not a problem for me I guess, but –"

"But what?" Her voice was demanding, sharp, and she straightened across from him. He noted her eyes sparked to life, sparkled inquisitively as if she were piecing something together, digging his own for answers. She blinked a few times in waiting for him. "Owen!"

He turned form her abruptly and walked to the fridge, to busy himself. He couldn't take her eyes, couldn't say it to her face. He wasn't sure how she was going to react, and he didn't want to see her eyes when he told her he was ten years her senior. He wasn't willing to do that to himself. "Owen what?" He looked up at her. He wasn't ready for this he didn't think. Her eyes were hot and her nose was a bit red. She looked angry.

She stomped over to him, abruptly kicking the fridge closed. Without warning, roughly put her hands on his chest and pushed him back across the floor, where he rammed into the wall, knocking the pictures and spices on the small shelf. Her eyes locked on his, and his brow rose in surprise, scanning her face. She was breathing hard.

"Owen," she warned, "But _what_?"

He sighed, letting his hands drop to either side of him. He relaxed, straightened. She was so close to him, so within proximity for another kiss…he was craving another. He swore his inside were poisoned with her. He gently put his hands on her and placed them delicately on her hips, one snaking around her waist and pulling her close. She didn't object, just moved forward slowly, her face still hard. He sighed, scanning her eyes with his own, and replied quietly, "I'm thirty-six, Marianne."

Instantly her face softened, and a small smile played in the corner of her lips, twitching until finally she couldn't stand it. She began to giggle, and she shook her head slightly, her eyes softening and shimmering blue now, like freshly crafted sapphires set in the most beautiful of arrangements. "Well, by all means, you're an old man," she teased him, winking at him. Her eyes were teasing and heat rushed up his neck.

He furrowed his brow at her, "It doesn't bother you?"

She shrugged a shoulder, "Not really. Does it bother you?" She stood on her tip-toes, snaking her arms around his neck, her lips inches from his own. Her head tipped to the side slightly, causing her curls to fall around her neck and shoulders. He was getting hot all over, and he began to sweat as she stared at him like that. Her eyes shifted to his lips for a moment and then back up to his own eyes. "Well?"

He swallowed, "It doesn't bug me if it doesn't bug you."

She giggled again, smiling brightly at him, "Then I guess that means it doesn't bug either of us." She wrapped her fingers around the collar of his shirt again, stepping forward, forcing him back against the wall. He complied, his arm still around her waist, the other hand on her hip. He slowly moved it down along her thigh, and she moved closer to him, his lips burning for a taste of hers, when his hand slipped down her thigh and caught something wet and warm.

"Argh!" Her tone was loud and biting, and she flailed away from him, staggering into the door. Instantly panicked, Owen looked to his hand, where a bright red, watered down stain rested on his fingers. He automatically looked to her thigh, and he hadn't noticed it before – her jeans, still dark from being wet, were darker along her thigh. She looked there as well, sighing, and slid down the fridge to the floor.

His military instincts instantly kicked in. Blood. Not good.

"What happened?" He demanded, dropping to a knee beside her. He wasted no time, rising only to fly into the living room and grab his knife which was on the bookshelf. He unsheathed it, ran back into the kitchen, and dropped beside her. He didn't hesitate it ripping her jeans along her thigh, tossing the knife to the floor, and tearing the fabric apart with his hands. She shooed his hands away, but he grabbed her wrist forcefully.

It was about six inches long and not too deep to be concerned with, but it was curved and marred with dirt, and dripping with watery blood. His brow dropped into a furrow, and he frowned at her. She sighed and began to stand. "It's nothing – "

"This isn't nothing," he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her back to the floor, "How'd this happen?" It was far too high on her leg to be an accidental wound, and a thousand different options ran into his mind. She rolled her eyes and let her head fall back onto the fridge door.

"Delta got a bit scared when I was in the observation paddock with her," she flippantly dismissed with a wave of her hand, "It's nothing – not deep, I'm _fine_." He shook his head and stood, pointing at her to stay where she was.

"It's going to get infected, Marianne. I'll be right back." He moved out of the kitchen, went to retrieve the appropriate supplies, and came back to find her seated on the island, tying her hair into a tighter bun and staring down at the wound. He moved in front of her and began unpackaging the gauze wrap, then wet it with peroxide.

She watched him, "So. Does this officially mean we're something?"

He looked up at her, folding the gauze in half and then gently applying it to her wound. She didn't flinch, and he back to her, shrugging a shoulder and gave her a half smile, "I dunno, I guess. Do you want to be something?"

She gave him a coy smile, "Do _you_ want to be something?"

"I asked you first,"

She chuckled, "Well, I asked you second."

He pressed the gauze tighter around her thigh to make sure it sank deep into the open flesh. She reached beside her and began applying salve to more of it, and he nodded to her, watching her hands. He wasn't sure what was in the pit of his stomach, but it was a great feeling, and he didn't want it to leave. He couldn't imagiee going back to the man who had judged this woman and had written her off because she was his assistant and was huskier. He didn't want to go back to that guy. He nodded again, and accepted the gauze from her, "Yeah, I want to be something." He swallowed thickly. "Unless you don't want to be."

She shook her head and giggled again, like a giddy schoolgirl, her nose blossoming with red which spread across her cheeks. Her eyes lit up light stars and she scanned his own, him getting lost in those pools of sapphire that reminded him of the ocean. He'd been lost at sea in the Navy, trying to find himself, and he was lost now, looking for her. It was a mess. A beautiful, beautiful mess. Her voice was soft and she reached up to place her hand along his jaw, stroking his cheek with her thumb. "No. I want to be with you. If you want to."

He laughed, stopping his movements of wrapping the gauze around her thigh. They stared at one another, for a second and he nodded. "Absolutely." She giggled again, took his face in her hands, and tipped his chin up to meet her. He rose on tip toes and gently kissed her lips, a thimble, hardly anything but was entirely something. She touched their foreheads together and giggled, staring at him playfully.

"Well, I guess that means we're something," she whispered.

"Congratulations to us," he murmured back.

She laughed at him, tossing her head back. He chuckled at her, shaking his head, and finished wrapping her leg. She moved off the island to help him clean up the mess when his phone rang on the table. They both froze, and he looked to the clock on the stove. It was after midnight.

Owen sprang for the phone, Marianne not leaving her place at the island. He answered the call, turned to her, and watched her nervously play with the packaging in her hands. Her eyes were cemented on him and he inhaled a nervous breathe as the line connected, "This is Owen,"

"Owen, it's Peter," Peter's voice was quiet, but strong, and he sounded exhausted. There was movement on the vet's end, and Owen heard monitors and the whispering of nurses and staff. Then, Peter's voice began to echo, "We've finished surgery down here. I told you I'd call."

Panic flung into his stomach, taking his chest captive, "Okay. And?"

"And," he chuckled, "She did fantastic – as expected. The perforation wasn't as bad as I had anticipated, and we closed terrifically. She's still out from the anaesthesia, and will have to stay overnight, but you can come see her if you want."

Marianne, already moving, was in the living room and getting her clothes. Owen was right behind her, getting his knife and vest, scanning for his keys. Marianne wrapped her hands around them on the end-table and tossed them at him as she hustled towards the door, switching off lights as she went. At hand was her wet clothes, raincoat, and a sweatshirt he'd borrowed her. He stepped through the door, kicking open the screen, only to find it had stopped raining and was cold outside. Pitch black, he saw Marianne already at the truck, her phone light blazing. "Great, Peter. We're on the way."

"Wonderful. I'll see you in a few minutes."

Owen ended the call, and tossed the phone into the truck, hoisting himself up. Marianne already had it running and the lights blazing, and was settling into her seat beside him. She scrambled into his sweatshirt and he tossed the truck into reverse, then slammed it into drive, tires spinning on the soft earth.

. . .

"You've been _where_?"

Claire sat up in her bed, threw her legs over the side of it, knocking her nighstand in the process. Swearing, she quickly slipped on her slippers. Lunging for the dresser, she yanked open a drawer and began frantically searching for clothes. She cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear and listened to Zach frantically relay his story of going to the raptor paddock with Owen and bringing in one of the sick animals.

Temper flaring, Claire yanked out a pair of jeans and a tank-top, "You'd better have a good explanation when I get back, Zachary Mitchell," she threatened. Her mind was in full gear now, and she hustled to the bathroom. If Owen had brought in one of the raptors, and it was indeed sick, she'd have to tell Wu and get a report filed right away. She, after all, was the operations manager and needed to know everything. Throwing the phone on speaker, she set it down roughly on the bathroom sink and began changing her clothes.

"I just told you everything –"

She shook her head, "No, I mean a _real_ answer, Zach. Now get yourself in bed and we'll deal with this tomorrow." She abruptly hung up before he could reply, and she threw the tanktop over her head and began wriggling into it. Turning, she fled the bathroom, snatching up her phone, and hurried to the closet to grab a pair of flip flops. Once on her feet, she grabbed her purse and her badge and was out the door, ramming her foot into the table leg sitting along the foyer wall. She screamed and swore again, catching herself on the door. How dare he not call her!

She was going to kill Owen .


	25. Chapter Twenty-One

**Author's Note:** Ok, I know I said I was taking a break from this story, but I couldn't help it! It's all just coming together so nicely! I can't wait to get to the movie, and I just wouldn't stop formulating this chapter. It was playing in my brain like a movie, so I had to write it and get it out. So, ta-da, here it is! I hope you like it, because I certainly do, and let me say - my surprise that I mentioned earlier? Well, it's coming, and it's coming fast! No spoilers here.

Enjoy, and seriously, I need to write my movie. I'll try and curb my creativity for _Jurassic World_ for a few days. Anyway, tune in and please enjoy! Thanks so much for everything, ya'll rock!

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty- One**

It was the second time that day they'd skidded into the vet building, leaving ruts outside the front steps in the soft earth. Before Owen had even parked the truck Marianne was already out of it and taking the steps two at a time. Her heart was pounding and her lungs burning, pushing her forward, and unnerving her to no end. It was probably adrenaline, and a bit of shock, as she really hadn't formulated everything that happened tonight.

She burst through the door, Owen hot on her heels, the doors bouncing on the hinges. She instantly moved past the front desk, where two techs were entering in information. The building, now lit up with life and a grave-shift, felt odd and unfamiliar compared to how it had felt earlier that night. Marianne was frantic, moving down the hallway swiftly, both her and Owen oblivious as to what the tech's were saying as they ran after the trainer and his assistant.

Peter met them in the hallway, out of his surgery uniform and back into a pair of navy blue scrubs with brown accents, and a white lab-coat. He had his stethoscope in the lab-coat pocket, and had freshly showered. Black circles were under his eyes and he set a chart and pen down as Owen approached him quickly. Peter held out his arms to calm them both, as if they were animals needing negotiation.

"Owen, you –"

Owen seized the man's arm strongly, locking eyes with him. "Where is she, Peter?" Peter looked between the trainer and his assistant, and nodded. Marianne would've decked the man if he hadn't turned on his heel and briskly led them down the hallway, blood pulsating all reason from her head. She hurried to keep step with Owen, and he opened his hand to her at the side. Looking at it and then up to him, she didn't hesitate to slip her own into his calloused one's – a working man's hands.

They rounded the corner to the right, and they passed into a larger section of vet building – where the bigger animal's were kept. Roughly the size of an airplane hangar, it was long enough to house the Rex and the Brachiosaurus comfortably on a table – but if they were to stand, they'd have problems. Their footfalls echoed as they crossed the brightly lit room, and came to a door marked "observation" – a regular sized room, for smaller, more manageable animals to be treated in. Why it was off the larger hangar, Marianne had no idea, but she didn't rightly care.

Peter pushed open the door, ushered them inside, and the two of them swiftly entered as if the hounds of hell were on their heels. The room was dark, and Owen halted her at the door, Peter flipping on the lights.

Adjustable lighting provided a dimly lit scene, and even then the room was blindly sterile. Clean, white walls were blinding, complete with stainless steel counters and shelving in the back corner – and an exam table in the middle of the room. It was sparse and reminded Marianne of a prison – a blindingly white prison that she would've wished on no man. But, the dim lights calmed her nerves somewhat as Peter moved towards the table.

Delta, still unconscious, was wrapped in gauze around her abdomen, her arms and legs roughly withheld in massive restraints that looked suitable for the Hulk, much less a raptor. An IV poured into her arm, bags full and on stand-by, providing her antibiotics and a myriad of other medications. Close by was an ultrasound machine, and X-ray light, and a monitor that beeped rhythmically. She squeezed Owen's hand and he pulled her close, her interlacing their fingers. Panic and fear overtook her heart and she began to tremble – tears long since pouring down her face unable to stop. She sniffled and they approached.

It was as if this was her own child instead of a dinosaur, and it was killing her to see Delta so sick and weak. What terrified her the most now wasn't seeing the blood-stained gauze, or the IV, or the monitor's – which were all fine – but what scared her the most was the ventilator, clicking softly every three seconds to fill Delta's lungs with air, raising her chest mechanically, unnaturally. Marianne knew what this meant and Owen stopped her at the side of the table, otherwise she may have just climbed right onto it and laid their beside the animal.

Marianne released his hand and placed her own on Delta's snout, running her fingers along the length slowly, letting it register in the back of her mind. Her knees bucked, but she didn't show it, instead lowered her face against Delta's nose and inhaled. The smell of blood, dirt, death, and jungle pounded her senses, but she didn't care. Marianne kissed Delta's nose, then raised her head to look at Peter, who was staring at her across from Delta.

"How long will she be on the vent?" Marianne squeaked. Owen came up beside her and wrapped a secure arm around her shoulders, pulling her into him. Suddenly relieved he was here with her, she wrapped her arms around his waist and slumped into him slightly. Her nerves became to melt away and sanity returned to her brain only slightly. "I mean, does she -?"

Peter stopped her, "Delta's brain activity is normal. She didn't lose much blood at all," he smiled at her gently, "We just had to paralyze her for the surgery. She'll wake up in a few hours, but she's entirely fine, Miss Randal." He looked to Owen and then chuckled, "You've got a strong set of girls on your hands, Mr. Grady," he said teasingly.

Owen nodded slowly and rubbed Marianne's shoulders, "You have no idea, Peter."

He laughed lightly, pushing a few buttons on the monitor screen, "I don't think I've ever seen a woman work so hard in the rain before, especially in the Valley, right beside us in the muck." He moved around the table and extended a hand to Marianne. "We haven't formally met yet, Miss Randal. Peter Bartlett."

She swiped at her eyes, looked at Delta, and then shook the man's hand, "You can call me Marianne."

He dipped his head, "Beautiful name," he smiled at her, then he chuckled at Owen, "You two an item or something?" He gestured between them and clicked a pen from his breast pocket, "Because Owen –"

"We just became an item," Owen interjected lightly, tossing a coy look to Marianne, who had moved to Delta's side. She rolled the stool from under a table and seated herself slowly, stroking Delta's rough nose, eyes scanning the animal's face. She used her other hand to run her knuckles along Delta's fingers, admiring her design and her genetics. She breathed in the animal's presence – this may be the only time she had with Delta to be able to touch her, and she tossed a look over her shoulder at Owen.

Peter nodded, "I could tell," he smiled warmly at them, "Good to hear it." Their conversation became lost to Marianne as she began to conceptualize Alan Grant, her mentor and friend, and what he would be thinking, seeing this animal weak and helpless after surgery – paralyzed and entirely at their mercy.

Swiping at more tears, she immediately got up and walked to the supply cabinet hanging on the wall. Opening the doors, she found a clipboard and a blank chart, then snatched a pen from the desk across the room, flipping the page over as she went. Owen and Peter's conversation stopped abruptly as they began watching her. She reseated herself and began scratching notes furiously.

"Resps at..." she checked the monitor, "15, BP 115 over 75," she ran the vitals, then reached for the medical record Peter had left on the exam table next to Delta's snout. She flipped the page and began copying his notes, "Bone density is..." her brow dropped into a furrow, "...hallow?" she breathed. Her heart pitched into her feet: Alan had made the same prediction twenty-some years before his time in Jurassic Park, insisting that raptor's took after birds more than reptiles – and that, if their bones were hollow, his theory would be correct. She blinked, whipped a look to Peter. "How did you find out her bones were hollow?"

Peter, obviously perplexed, fumbled for words. "Well, we did an initial exam when we opened her up for surgery, but – "

"Did you take a bone biopsy?"

His brows shot into the air and he glanced at Owen, "Bone biopsy -?"

"Don't look at him," Marianne snapped up from her chair, tossed her clipboard onto the exam table and approached him, pointing the pen at him, "Look at _me_. I asked the question. Did you get a bone biopsy or not?"

Flummoxed, his face reddened and he nodded, "Well, of course we did, but I don't see how you would be concerned –"

She looked at Owen and then shouldered by then, digging in her pocket for her phone. "I want a copy of whatever readings you get back on the biopsy," she interjected, quickly punching through her password and entering her contacts, "And I want another biopsy to send back to the mainland."

Owen approached her, "Annie. What are you talking about?" He had a look on his face that told her he had no idea what page she was on and was entirely lost. Alan's voicemail. She hung up, huffed, and turned to him, gesturing wildly. When she stalked back to the exam table, he grabbed her wrist and jerked her back to him. "Marianne. Tell me what's going on, please?"

She nodded, her brain processing as fast as it could go. That biopsy could prove – or disprove – everything Alan had put his life into. It could change his entire outlook on raptors; it could get him here if he knew he was right. If raptors did indeed have hallow bones, his theory was correct – they did take after birds. It could revolutionize his life work, change the way they knew dinosaurs and prey. It would launch countless opportunities for research and developmental sciences –

-She froze. An image popped into her brain, a face that she recalled her first day here. One that she had forgotten about in her four weeks on the island, but had heard enough about to be aware. She'd seen his name float across the desk a few times, taken a few messages from him – talked to him on the phone. Owen and Barry had warned her about him and what he was after with the girls. It sank her stomach as if it were sinking warship. She whirled around and grabbed Owen's forearm tightly. "Vic." Was all she said.

His brows rose, and he looked at her as if he were concerned she'd flipped a lid. She swallowed thickly, quickly scanned his eyes with her own. She shook her head, grabbed her phone from her back pocket and quickly dialled Alan again. Before she could press call, Owen snatched the phone from her.

"You gunna tell me what's going on or what?" He asked forefully.

She nodded, pacing to Peter. She pressed a finger into his chest lightly, "I need whatever you get back on the bone biopsy, Dr. Bartlett," she tried to calm her heartbeat, but couldn't quite find the energy or the brainpower necessary for the task, "Whatever that bone biopsy comes back and reads could change everything we know about these animals," she turned and faced Delta, "and it could revolutionize the way they are studied and approached." She whipped back to Owen and hurried towards him, "Alan's been studying raptors for twenty years, Owen," she slapped her hands together, "he believes they have a hollow bone structure and that they share more DNA similarities with birds than with reptiles, though their DNA is specifically reptilian," he wasn't following – she could see it.

"Annie, I have no idea what you're – "

" _Owen_ ," she stressed, "If these animals have a hollow bone density and do indeed take after birds, Alan's theory is _right_. It will change our entire approach to these animals. It could be developmentally groundbreaking," She thought about Vic Hoskins, the man she'd met her first day at Jurassic World – the man who had psychopathic idea to use raptors in warfare and espionage to replace military men and women. She couldn't imagine if he got his hands on Alan's research. "Hoskins. He wants – "

She didn't have to say a word more, "I understand," he turned quickly and stalked over to the exam table, gently rubbing his hands over Delta's skin, glancing at the IV, vent, and finally the monitor. He watched her heart-rhythm on the monitor when Peter finally piped up.

"Does one of you two want to tell me what you're talking –"

" _Owen Grady!"_

All three of them whirled around and gave their attention to the door, where a very obviously upset and dishevelled looking Claire Dearing was stopped, arms crossed over her chest, face red. Dressed in jeans, a peach-colored tank-top and jean button down, she had flip flops on and her hair pulled back into a clip. She had a dose of lip gloss on and some mascara, and the room filled with the scent of plums and vanilla. She stalked into the recovery room, hot under the collar, and practically shoved past Marianne as if she were nothing.

Owen, flummoxed, blinked at her as if he were trying to materialize her presence. Marianne was so stunned she had to rub her eyes, which were in sore need of a change of contacts, and she staved off the idea of gaping at the woman. She looked unreal – not the Claire Dearing that ran Jurassic World. She looked like a civilian woman in civilian clothes. Her phone buzzed in her back pocket and she sprang to retrieve it, but was disappointed when it was only her schedule.

Claire stomped towards the raptor trainer and slammed a finger into his chest. He looked down at it, stunned, and then back up to her. "You'd better have one heckuva explanation as to why you didn't call and tell me about this –" she whipped a hand out to gesture to Delta, as if she were serving up the situation, "Wu is going to flip that you did surgery without consulting him."

Owen finally gained his composure and dropped his face into a wrinkled frown. Claire didn't seem to care, but hammered on, "It's a breach of park policy – all invasive procedures have to be documented by the lab and approved by Dr. Wu –"

Marianne flew into his rescue, not appreciating Claire's attitude already this morning, though it was still dark out and hardly rising and working hours. She grabbed Claire's arm and whipped her around, taking the woman by surprise. She knocked back a few steps, taken aback by Marianne's intrusion, and raised her brows in surprise at Marianne. "I suggest you take a few minutes to ask _about_ the situation rather than dominating it, _Miss_ Dearing." She said roughly. Owen went to stop her but she shook his grasp off her arm. "Delta was _dying,_ Claire. She needed emergency surgery on her stomach, otherwise she was going to bleed out and die." She pounded a hand on the exam table, grabbed the chart, and shoved it at her, "If you'd take a second to actually _understand_ the situation and not just concoct it up in your narcissistic brain, you'd know that it takes two consulting physician's signatures to override consent for an emergency operation," she thrust a finger into the chart, Claire's mouth open and her eyes cemented in shock on the assistant. Marianne jabbed the chart, "And Owen signed for the operation, as I am under the impression that's necessary too. But maybe you forgot."

Claire, utterly taken aback and shocked by her sudden outburst, fumbled for words and her face turned red. Finally, her eyes flashed, and she got an icy look on her face. Her jaw set, she bristled and squared her shoulders, and she glared at Marianne. "Well. Of all the audacious things for _you_ of all people to say to _me!_ I've thoroughly had enough of your condescending, disrespectful remarks, Randal, and after your stunt with Wu I'm not entirely sure your employment is in Jurassic World's best interest." As if she were a child throwing a tempter tantrum, Claire whipped the chart back on the exam table next to a still paralyzed and sedated Delta. "I expected more from a professional who appreciates science and has a fascination for this type of work," she hissed, "But I guess it was too much for the assistant to a paranoid fanatic with PTSD and a conspiracy theory." Her tone was biting.

Marianne's tempter roared and she whirled back around to Claire, her eyes pinning the woman in place. Claire had a smirk on her face, her hands on her hips, and an aura that told Marianne she thought she was better than everyone else on the planet. Her stomach began to churn in rage – how dare she talk about Alan that way! Without warning, Marianne pulled her arm back, bunched her fist, and saw out of the corner of her eye Owen lunging for her.

"Marianne -!"

Before she could hear more, her fist collided with Claire' nose and sent the woman reeling back, straight into the desk. Claire screeched, tumbled over the desk, knocked her head against the wall, slumping to the floor and screaming. Marianne's body burned, her fingers on fire, and she rubbed her knuckles and glared at the woman. Owen was at her side immediately, Peter rushing to get gauze to pack Claire's now bleeding nose. Marianne lurched from Owen's grasp and pounded over to Claire and thrust a finger at her. Claire, in a mixture of screaming and crying, glared at her, fingers trembling at her bloody nose.

"If I _ever_ hear another word about Alan Grant from you," she panted hard, her nostrils flaring, "then I will personally make sure every piece of cartilage on your face is thoroughly broken."

Claire screamed, grunted at her, gasping for air as if she were a debutante. Sitting, with her shirt bloodied and her hands covered in the dark red liquid, Peter at her side ready to pack her nose, she shoved him away and screamed at Marianne, her face distorting and turning red. _"_ You're _fired_ , Randal! _Fired!_ I'll make sure you never work in this field again – do you understand me! _Fired!"_ The operation's manager was sobbing now as Peter tended to her wounds.

Marianne huffed, grabbed the chart she'd started, and stalked out of the room, her knuckles and heartbeat pounding. Owen followed her quickly, ignoring Claire's protests to his leaving. Marianne was halfway across the large animal wing when he came up behind her, grabbed her wrist, and brought her about. "What were you thinking?" he demanded, her not stopping but instead lurching out of his grip, "Marianne, would you just stop and talk to me?" She was unwilling to let him see the tears now running down her face. "Annie," his tone dropped to that bourbony tone that raked across her nerves so deliciously.

She turned, slowly, her cheeks stained with tears now. He blinked at her, confused by her sudden change of demeanor, and she blinked back another barrage of tears, to no avail. Without warning, she hurried towards him, threw her arms around his waist and pulled herself closely, the chart thunking to the floor with a slap. Taken aback only slightly, it didn't take him long to wrap his arms around her. Marianne sobbed into his chest, tears snaking down her neck past the sweater, and he gently rubbed her back and placed a hand on her head.

It was all too much. Everything was catching up with her – the exhaustion, the stress, the anxiety and worry for Delta. The emotions she had for Owen and the realization of her state and position revocation from Claire. It all crashed into her soul like a mighty wave would pound over the sides of a ship. She stood there a good two minutes and just cried into him, he not saying anything like the good and honourable man he was. Only when she'd composed herself only slightly did she pull back from him. "I'm sorry," she sniffled, "I-I just couldn't –"

He smiled at her, tipped her chin up and searched her eyes a moment and then her lips, only to find her eyes again. "It's okay. I get it," he said huskily, "You needed to cry."

She nodded, changing gears, "We need to get the biopsy results to Alan," she said quietly, "and we need to make sure they're sealed so Vic doesn't get his hands on them. Because you know what he'll want to do,"

He nodded, "Yeah. He's gunna want to take the research and run with it," he chuckled, "Birds are a lot easier to train than reptiles, and they develop faster," he sighed now, his eyes filling with regret, "And who knows what Vic will want to do with that knowledge."He ran a thumb across her cheek.

"What am I gunna do?" She looked away from him, "She fired me, Owen."

He nodded and laughed, "Like that's ever stopped you?" Like he would even know, but he was right. Marianne wasn't one to just throw in the towel despite her circumstances – she'd come out of this like anything else and she'd get her way if it killed her, especially against Claire and Wu both. Everything she'd speculated about this place was right – they were conniving and dangerous, and she just knew that if she didn't intervene, Hoskins would get his way on the research and throw everything to hell. Owen continued his thought, "You're gunna stay with me and we're gunna make sure Grant gets the research,"

She wrinkled her brow, "Owen, I can't -"

He nodded, shushing her, "You can and you will," he smiled, "I've got a spare bedroom and we can arrange for you to keep your stuff at Barry's or something," he smiled, "And we're gunna take care of Delta and the girls like we have been." He bent to kiss her tenderly, and her knees buckled and went weak, but she didn't dare move from under his kiss. He pulled back and breathed, his breath swirling her senses, "And we're gunna continue with this," he gestured between them slowly, "And it's gunna be amazing."

She smiled at him, "You're a pretty confident son of a gun, aren't you?"

He chuckled, "You have no idea."

Owen kissed her again and he took her hand. They began exiting the large animal wing and hurried back in the direction of the truck. He took the driver's seat and she sat beside him, scribbling a few more notes on the chart. She grabbed her phone again and dialled Alan as Owen hurried out of the resort.

"Who is gunna be up?" He asked her, flicking on the air. It was humid and sticky out now, as all the rain had turned the jungle air into a dense, greenhouse type of temperature. Marianne began wriggling out of Owen's sweatshirt and she glanced at the clock on the dash – almost after two. She nodded to herself and pressed the phone to her ear, shifting her eyes to Owen.

"Alan will be, once he see's it's me."

. . .

The loud, obnoxious, and far to chipper ringtone burst from the nightstand, the night illuminated by the screen on Alan Grant's phone. He rolled over onto his side, groped for the flashlight he kept at the camper bed's side, and finally managed to click it on.

Moaning, he propped himself up on his elbow and grabbed the alarm clock – registering what time it was. 2AM. He wrinkled his brow, rubbed at his eye, and grabbed the phone, being careful of the attached charger. He glanced at the screen – a bright and beautiful picture of Marianne, smiling back at him. Realizing it was her, he quickly answered it.

"Randal," he croaked, his voice hoarse and dry from no water and the dry air of the Montana Badlands. She wouldn't be calling if this wasn't an emergency. Everything within him froze and he swung his legs over the side of the bed, knowing. Panic seized him and his stomach hardened into a stone. Memories and flashbacks came back to fill his mind when he closed his eyes - they didn't stop when he opened them again to the dark room.

" _Alan_ ," she sounded frantic, " _I need to talk to you. It's important."_

Of course it was important! "Are you alright? Safe? Is everything ok?" He stood, bent to retrieve his boots and dumped them over to check for spiders and other desert inhabitants. When he was satisfied nothing had made itself at home in his shoe, be tucked the phone between his shoulder and cheek and began lacing them on.

" _Yeah, I'm fine – everything's safe. But we have a problem."_

His brow furrowed and his eyes dashed around the dark camper, empty and lifeless. It was hot and he hadn't realized he was pouring sweat down his back. Heartbeat increasing, he tried to calm his breathing and the shakiness in his voice. He couldn't imagine what could be wrong, it could be an infinite amount of possibilities when it came to the park. He remembered – everything that could go wrong had, and it wouldn't hesitate in this case either. Horrifying imagines came flashing back at him. "What type of problem?" He was hesitant.

Her voice was calm, commanding, and serious as she replied. _"I have a bone biopsy from a Velociraptor, Alan."_

He stopped from lacing his boot instantly, focusing on the darkness of the camper. His lungs hallowed and his heart felt as if it had kicked in nitrous. His throat instantly parched, and he felt hot all over, still cemented in place. He closed his eyes and inhaled. Everything he'd always dreamed – everything he'd invested his life work in, every speculation and lecture and article. Every bit of his career had boiled up to this one phone call – the phone call he'd been beginning to think was never going to come, but knowing full well that may have.

He hitched his breath. "Yeah?"

 _"Yeah. But, it's a lot more complicated than you think,"_

His eyes popped open and he furrowed his brow as if she could see him. His eyes scanned in confusion and wonder all at once, "What type of complicated?"

" _The mainland kind."_


	26. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Author's Note:** So I said I was taking a break. Well...I'm not. I wrote a ton of my movie today and the co-author for my _Expendables_ story is currently out of town, so I resorted to coming back. I know, you're all disappointed. *Winks*

So that surprise I promised? Well, it's here! I hope you enjoy it, and that it doesn't come too fast as a shock.

Also - hinting at movie happenings here! Please note that it's not starting yet - we have a few more chapters to go before everything goes to heck. I'm changing it up a little from the movie, but not by much.

Thanks tons - again, you're all amazing!

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Two**

" _What do you mean the mainland kind?"_

Alan's tone was less than inquisitive – it was heavy and filled with concern. Marianne's eyes shifted to Owen, who drove the truck wordlessly and gave her a reassuring nod. She swallowed thickly and then looked down to the chart at her own handwriting. Her stomach sank like a stone in her belly, and she bit down on her lower lip.

"There's someone trying to take the raptor's off the island to use developmentally in the military," she replied hesitantly, "and I'm afraid that if you're theory is confirmed by the biopsy, things are going to go badly."

Alan was quiet a long time, almost a full minute. Marianne sat cautiously, somewhat comfortably in the truck, bobbing along as Owen hit pot-holes and drove quickly. They needed to get to the paddock and get their files secured and in their possession before anyone else did – neither one of them were sure if Vic had people working for his cause on the inside or not, and Marianne wasn't one to risk that chance. Owen glanced at her and reached across the seat for her hand before Alan responded. " _Do you know what the biopsy says?"_

Marianne swallowed and cleared her throat, "No, not yet. Though the medical chart says the bone density is hollow, it's speculation and not backed up by anything." He was quiet again, and she added, "So, you see what I mean by mainland?"

" _It's a bad idea,"_ He interjected, " _Bringing raptor's off that island. There's a reason Muldoon took such precautions in the original park with the raptor's – he knew they were smart, Marianne. If this someone gets those animal's off the island and loses control of them –"_

"That's not going to happen," Owen spouted off across the cab. Marianne removed the phone from her ear, covered the mouth piece, and shot him a frown. Owen waved her off, reached for the phone, and took it from her firmly. Placing it to his ear, he continued. "Sir, you don't know me –"

" _Who is God's name is this?"_

When Owen stopped talking, Marianne knew Alan had that tone – the commanding tone that demanded respect, the one that he had when he was mad – furious beyond rationalizing with – and that he'd better be taken seriously. She'd seen it many, many times in his lectures when he was consistently prodded about Jurassic Park, and upon its opening, Jurassic World. The man couldn't escape his experiences, and he'd learned to cope with the questions and speculations with authority. She watched Owen's face carefully, still set like a stone. He opened his mouth to speak and set his jaw.

"My name is Owen Grady, Dr. Grant." He turned to Marianne, "I'm the raptor specialist on the island."He hit speakerphone, tossed the phone onto the bench seat, and shooed Marianne's hand away when she went to grab it. Shaking his head, he put two hands on the wheel and continued driving.

" _Good for you,"_ Alan was entirely sarcastic, beyond reason. Marianne sighed and facepalmed, shaking her head and slumping down in her seat. This wasn't how she wanted to introduce them – though she'd been dating Owen less than a day. " _I suggest you two tell me what's going on before I lose my temper entirely and call the Coast Guard."_

"Alan," She pleaded.

Owen grabbed her hand and squeezed it, running a thumb over her knuckles to reassure her that he had it. He gave her a crooked smile and looked to the phone, "Sir. I've been working with these animal's since their birth, and I can confirm all your speculations and whatever else you have against these animals. They're dangerous, and extremely intelligent – but they are capable of interacting with humans on a communicative level," Marianne studied him, all business, and then glanced down to the phone. "They respond to my commands, Dr. Grant, and one of my supervisors is pushing to have them integrated into military operations to increase manpower, manipulation, and stealth tactics. He's pushing for military approval, and release on my end – he's taken it above my head, and so far he's gotten nowhere."

 _"Define nowhere."_

Owen shifted a glance to Marianne, "What he means," she interjected quickly, "Is that Vic's having a hard time convincing the superiors to sign off on the idea and give him an open-air field test," she glanced up at Owen, "So he's nowhere near close to getting them off the island, Alan." She looked to Owen and gave him a confused look, "Right?"

"I have the situation under control," Owen insisted, looking to as if that was to answer both their concerns. She doubted it would. Though she hadn't heard much about Vic's initial plans, it was floating around the staff gossip tree here and there. Barry and Briggs and Silas made mention of it sometimes, and Marianne had overheard mostly, not willing to get into the politics of the situation. But Owen's explanation to Alan was enough for her - she know understood fully.

Marianne quickly grabbed his arm and shook her head frantically, a look of horror on her face. But, it was too late – he'd already spoken the words and Alan was already stewing on them. She sighed, closed her eyes, and listened to something on Alan's end crash to the floor. She winced.

" _Let me tell you something, specialist,"_ Alan began, his spiteful biting tone snaking down Marianne's spine and seizing her resolve captive. She sank down in her seat and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Owen bristled, _"If there is one thing you are_ not, _it is in control on that island. You are the farthest thing from in control. You are witness to a science experiment that only has a matter of time, a contender in a game of survival. Those animals are extinct in nature for a reason, Grady, and it wasn't nature's choice to bring them back into the world. You have no control because you've never_ had _control. It's an illusion Grady, one that John Hammond bought into and one that you and everyone else on that island has."_

Marianne frowned at the phone. While she knew what Alan was saying was right, it didn't justify how he sounded furious at Owen and at the world in this moment. She had never believed the dinosaurs went extinct by natural causes like meteors in the first place – she believed God had taken them off the earth. Her and Alan had differed in their beliefs in extinction and creation, but it hadn't stopped them from getting along, and it certainly hadn't stopped their friendship. She felt Owen looking at her, and she shifted the seat to face him.

There was silence for a minute, before Alan added, " _Marianne –"_

"Alan," she interjected roughly, almost disrespectfully, "There's no reason to get defensive about this. We're going to do everything we can to make sure this doesn't happen –that it won't happen. I'm sending you a copy of our research and you can look over it with whomever –"

 _"Our?"_ he was yelling now, furious, " _Our? Marianne, you've been…you've been working with….you've been with this specialist the entire time and you didn't tell me?"_ she fluttered her eyes closed and sighed, " _What in the world were you thinking? You've been working with raptors this entire time and didn't bother to let me know? You didn't think I'd be concerned -?"_

"Alan!" she spat, "Yes, I knew you'd worry, which is why I didn't tell you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you – I've been working with raptors this entire time, I'm sorry, yes, yes – we're beyond that now! This is serious stuff, and I need you to tell me what you want me to do." She hated her own tone and Owen shot her a warning look, but she disregarded it. When Alan said nothing, she backpedeled and reiterated, "I wanted to tell you, but I didn't want you to be upset like you are now. I thought it best to tell you later."

 _"Well what you thought best was probably the worst,"_ he growled at her, " _I'm going to make a couple of calls – Malcolm, Ellie, the entire deal and get them on board for this. We're gunna need all the testimonies and subjective speciality on this if what you're saying could possibly happen. I'll let you know."_

Her heart dropped, as if it had been on her sleeve and she'd let it fall mid-give. She sighed deeply, and she mentally chastised herself for being so defensive and straightforward with Alan on such a touchy, hard, and emotional subject for him. She knew it was only out of concern for her, his position, and she knew it was because he cared for her as his own daughter. Her eyes drifted to the window, and the familiarity of jungle fronds and surroundings reminded her that they were almost at the paddock. She looked back to Owen, who gave her a soft, compassionate smile.

"Alan," she said quietly.

He stopped her, " _I'll talk to you soon, Marianne."_

The call dropped.

When she didn't reach for the device, Owen locked the screen and they sat in silence. They roared past the coast, which expanded out from the paddock – which Marianne had missed most of her time driving in the mornings. The road pulled away from the coast a mile back, going deep into the dense jungle, and she'd regretted not looking out over it. Taking a deep breath, Owen reached out and rubbed her shoulder.

"You ok, champ?"

She said nothing, just nodded. He let his hand fall into her own and she closed her eyes – she was thankful for this man and her time with him, and overall, she was thankful for this job. She tossed up a thankful prayer, breathing in the smell of the truck and took in the sounds. It was quiet, save for the rumbling of the engine, and finally they arrived at the paddock – which was deserted and dark.

Exiting the truck, she snatched up her phone and stuffed it into the back of her damp jean's pockets, following Owen as he took her hand and led her to the maintenance shed, where he flicked the breakers on. The paddock illuminated in bright floodlights, and they hurried through the soft ground and earth and up the stairs to the office.

There he unlocked the doors and stopped in the threshold. She instantly activated, hurrying towards the file cabinet and unlocked them, grabbing at files from the drawers, "You should go check on the girls," she advised, "I'm ok here."

He nodded, " 'K. I'll be back."

She snorted at him, "Okay, Arnold." He gave her a lopsided smile and left, she heard his boots pound against the catwalks around the corner. Her heart thudded in her chest when she logged onto the computer and dug around the top drawer for a flash drive. Finding one, she plugged it in and began pasting files quickly. It took her about twenty minutes to erase everything off the system, before Owen came back – on a call. Marianne, furrowing her brow, pieced together from her place sorting through files.

He moved into Barry's office, closed the door, and immerged a few moments later. She glanced at him and hurried into Barry's office, stalking towards the cabinet in the corner. Opening it, she found a backpack and tossed it at him. They'd have to carry the rest by hand. "Who was that?"

"It was Peter," Owen said, pumping towards the desk. They began putting files into the backpack and she scooped up the rest, "Delta's awake and triggering her vent. They're extubating right now."

Nodding, she followed him out of the office, "Uh-huh. That's good."

He pounded down the stairs, "Yeah. He –" He was cut off by his phone ringing again. Putting it on speaker, he moved towards the truck, and Marianne froze. She felt something staring at her, and looked to the main gate, illuminated by a floodlight.

There she found Blue, Echo, and Charlie starting at her, calculating. They looked at her sideways, mouths slightly parted, as if taking in her presence and piecing together who she was. She stared back calmly, slowing her breathing and loosening her nerves. They smelled fear and could sense it, like a horse, and it was never an option. Owen had told her to always be in command of the situation, and she visualized it by raising her chin at them and squaring off her shoulders. They stood, the four of them; her across the yard, them locked in the enclosure, listening to Owen jabber on the phone. Only when his hand clapped onto her shoulder did she look at him.

"That was Peter's assistant, Neela. She's extubated and okay," he sounded relieved, "they've got her on a low sedative so she doesn't go berserk, but there's something else," She gestured for her to shift the files to him and she did, and he moved to the crew cab of the truck and set them inside. Her brow furrowed.

"What?"

"There's something wrong with one of Claire's new projects," he sighed, "She wants me to check it out. Something about security. I don't know."

She shook her head slightly and dug her keys out of her pockets, where they'd been abandoned most of the night. Her Camaro was waiting, undamaged by the storm, soaked and waiting patiently for her. She looked at it, found the key, and handed it to him. "Sounds grand," she said dryly.

He took the keys, "What's this?"

"Take my car into the resort and see Delta," she sighed and lifted her hair, now fallen out again, off her neck, "I'm gunna go lock these up at my place and I'll meet you there." She smiled at him, Owen looking at the car as if it were heaven reincarnated on earth. She rolled her eyes and slammed the crew cab door closed.

"You're sure –"

She nodded, "I trust you," she said slyly, then gave him a coy look. Pointing a finger at him, she topped in front of the headlights of the truck, him meeting her. He stepped towards her, and she put her finger in his chest and stopped him, taking half a step back. "But, if you scratch her, I'll kill you."

He snorted, "No pressure or anything," he tried to step to her again. She laid her palm flat on his chest to halt him, giggling now.

"I'm serious. That paint job cost me four grand," she looked to it, Owen grabbing her wrist while her guard was down. He pulled her close to him and planted a kiss on her lips lightly, her looking back to him. "Be careful, will you?"

He nodded, "Worried about me already?" He teased.

"I can not be if that's what you'd prefer."

He shook his head, eyes sparkling in the headlights. He smelled terrifically of rain and jungle, and she gave him a lopsided grin. "No, I don't want you to," he kissed the palm of her hand now, "I'll see you a bit later."

She nodded. "Okay."

He kissed her again quickly, and then hurried towards the Camaro. She stood in the headlights, crossed her arms over her chest, taking in the fact that they were indeed together and that it happened so quickly she couldn't even wrap her head around it. How it had happened she had no idea, but she was grateful it had.

Instantly, for some strange reason, Sophie popped into her had. Checking her watch, she found it was quarter to three in the morning. Sophie would still be asleep, and her belly warmed at the thought of the little girl. They were going to have to tell her sooner or later, and Marianne relished in the thought – Sophie had had it out for them since day one, trying to put them together discreetly. It had never occurred to Marianne the little girl had been right from the get go about her Uncle, and she chalked it up to a woman's intuition. Calling after Owen before he dipped into the call, she said, "We're gunna have to tell Sophie about us, you know!"

He nodded, "Yeah," he called back, "I'm not worried."

She laughed, "Me neither," she moved around the truck and stepped up into it, pulling herself in by the wheel and plopping down into the truck. She planned the rest of her night out in her head as she followed Owen down the road – him gunning the engine like a school boy and tossing mud up onto her car. Laughing at him from her place, she honked the horn and flashed her lights at him. In turn he tapped the brake lights. Marianne decided she'd stick around until morning, and help Owen bring Delta back before going home for some well over-due sleep.

They parted ways at the maintenance road; Owen towards the vet, her towards her bungalow.

. . .

Alan frantically circled an ad in the phone book, after his search online had presented nothing, much to his surprise. Cradling the phone between his shoulder and his collar bone, he glanced at the pad of paper with his handwriting on it: there he'd written Malcolm, with a circle around it, and then Ellie, with an 'X'. He'd talked to Malcolm already and had his full support, but he'd left two messages on Ellie's machine in Manhattan.

Turning back to the phone book, he set the pen in the spine and got up, moving towards the camper bed where he had a duffle out. He began piling clothing inside from another suitcase, out from under the bed. He had a slight tremble to his hands, and his mouth was insanely dry – not from the Badlands air, either.

The man on the phone was talking slowly, and yawned, less than pleased with the phone call. After the fourth quote being wrong, Alan had had enough and he straightened. Taking the phone in his hand, he had rolled his eyes and swore before replying the first three times, but now he was just beyond reason. He all out yelled at the man.

"No, I want a chartered flight from San Francisco to Isla Nublar– and I want it tonight!"


	27. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Chapter Twenty-three**

Claire was beyond furious as she stomped out of the vet clinic towards her car, her nose packed and shirt stained with blood droplets, as were her hands. She'd already left a voicemail on Masrani's cell phone about a lawsuit, but she hadn't gotten in her car before the phone rang again – this time it was the maintenance department, informing her that their backup systems were fine and the initial system should be up and running now that the storm had subsided.

As she drove towards the Samsung building, she voiced-to-texted an email, addressing the park's staff to tell them to resume their regular duties and that the park was no longer on standby. She also phoned the transport team to gather a unit to get the raptor back to its paddock before guests woke. Livid, and with a throbbing nose, she marched up the steps, slid her card, and stalked into the building towards the flight of stairs. Her footfalls echoed off the walls and she stopped when her phone buzzed, receiving a text from her sister. She growled, responded, and then dialled the boys.

Today was not going to be a good day – she'd make sure of it.

. . .

Marianne staggered through the front door of her bungalow, having thought better of dropping the documents at her place. She'd left them in the truck, now en-route to the kitchen. Whipping open the fridge, she grabbed two bottles of water and an apple, then kicked it closed and snatched a granola bar off the island counter-top before hustling to her room to shed Owen's clothes. She changed into a fresh pair of jeans, a white tank-top, her vest and a pair of hiking boots. Adding the final touches – her KA-BAR and her gun- she grabbed a messenger bag from her closet and stalked towards the desk.

She packed her laptop inside and tossed in the rest of her valuables from her purse – keys, phone, and wallet before she ultimately grabbed a backpack from the top shelf of her closet and tossed in a handful of clothes. Her hands were trembling as she hustled into the bathroom to grab her toothbrush, brush and some hair products. Grabbing Owen's sweatshirt from the floor, she dropped her stuff at the door, then hurried to the linen closet where she'd hidden her bow-case. Marianne scanned the bungalow as she went, reasoning the rest of her things were replaceable if they were to be confiscated.

She left, flicking out the lights and loading her stuff, tearing away from the building and back towards the resort, where she knew Owen would be waiting. She blasted the air conditioning in the truck, as the day was already muggy and heavy and it wasn't evening morning yet. She was about to roll the windows down when her phone ran. Rummaging a hand through her purse and giving even more gas to the truck, she lurched forward and managed to answer the call quickly. Without even looking at it, she answered, "Yeah?"

" _It's me,"_ Owen's voice came through the line clearly and it warned her skin. She smiled to herself in the rear-view, and laced her fingers over the wheel of the truck. She sped on, took a corner a bit fast and felt her tires slip, but she didn't slow. " _Miss me yet?"_

"Get to the point," she snickered at him, trying to suppress the giggle rising in her throat. She felt like a school-girl at Christmastime, and she couldn't help it. She remembered their kiss and her stomach flared, causing heat to rise up her neck and blossom on her nose. Her stomach flopped over. "How's Delta?"

" _Still out – but Claire's ordered a transfer, so we're going back to the paddock. Peter gave her some pretty tough meds, so he thinks she'll be out the rest of the day."_ Marianne frowned at this – she'd been looking forward to Delta waking up out of the anaesthesia, and upon hearing he'd redrugged her, her heart sank. She'd have to visit later.

"So what's your plan?"

He sighed, and she heard a car door slam, then the rev of her Camaro as he purposefully gave it gas. " _I'm taking Peter and the transport team back to the paddock – Barry's waiting there with Briggs and Silas, then I'm thinking of going home and getting some sleep before Sophie gets up at the resort."_ He revved the engine again and she giggled at him, " _This is way too fun to drive, you know."_

"I know," she retorted, "So I'll meet you at the paddock and get her charting and stuff from Peter, right? We don't want it laying around, because you know Vic is gunna hear about this, and so is Wu."

 _"Right. Do that, then I want you to get some sleep."_

She sighed, "I guess." Was all she said. She wanted nothing more than to stay with Delta and the other girls and help them reacclimate, but she knew Owen would never go for that. She slowed the truck and reversed, getting ready for a turn-around.

She thought about Claire's statement – about her being fired, and her stomach pitched. Now without a job and she was sure she'd be without a place, she really had no other choice but to think about going to the mainland – if Claire wasn't going to force her off the island. She wasn't going to leave by her own free will, since she wasn't about to let Owen face Vic and Wu by himself, and she certainly didn't want to think about losing Owen already this soon into their relationship. Her throat pitched and her head began to throb from lack of sleep, forming behind her eyes. Then there was Alan, who she hated herself for hurting, and whom she was dying to talk to. She knew they needed to come to an understanding so he could give her some insight into their situation. She sighed and closed her eyes, exhaling.

Life had just gotten so complicated.

She dared the next statement. "You realize we're gunna have to talk about some stuff, right?"

 _"Let's not do that right now."_ He sounded defensive.

Her heart dropped into her ribs. "Owen,"

" _I said not right now, Marianne. Let me get my head wrapped around Delta and this biopsy deal before we even tackle the entire relationship thing. I'm…not ready to go there yet –"_

"I haven't said anything yet," she interjected. She gripped the wheel tighter, her heart rate picking up a few paces. She didn't want to make him angry, and it sounded like he was borderline. She rubbed the windshield to remove some of the fog and then sped up a little, eyes focused on the road, the other hand pressing the phone into her ear harder.

 _"I already know what you're gunna say."_

Her brow dropped, "Oh? And what's that?" She challenged.

He got serious, " _Don't even start with me. I know you're gunna want to talk about the entire living situation – and we're not. You're staying with me and that's it. If Claire has a problem she can fire us both."_

"What?" Her tone rose a few decibels and she slapped the steering wheel, shaking her head furiously. No way was she about to let him spout off these wild statements that held no water and no weight. He was crazy to think she'd let him lose his job and abandon his girls, "Do you hear yourself? You're not losing your job with the raptor's because of me – no way. You've gained way too much ground to even think about –"

" _We'll do this later,"_ he interjected, stopping her mid-sentence. His tone had returned to its smooth, calm pace, and it soothed her concerns for the moment. She swallowed thickly and clicked on the wipers, eyes scanning out the windshield, Marianne half expecting him to appear before her eyes even though she knew he wouldn't. As if he could sense her concern or see it on her face, he continued, _"I'll see you in a couple of minutes, okay?"_

"Yeah. Later."

 _"Hey, Marianne?"_

She sighed and checked her speedometer, "Yeah?" The needle blurred behind her eyes as they filled with tears – she hadn't recalled a time she'd cried so much in one day, but she chalked it up to being exhausted, emotionally spent, and overwhelmed. She sniffled, fought back tears, and cleared her throat.

" _Everything's gunna be okay. I promise."_

She nodded, "Okay." Her whisper sounded pathetic and exhausted, but she no longer cared. His strong resolve and heroic attitude would cover it up, she expected, so she'd allow herself this one moment of fear and uncertainty. Her throat constricted and hoped to God he didn't think she was a coward, but she couldn't help but let out a breathy sob. She swiped at her eye, "God, I'm not usually like this, I'm sorry."

He laughed at her, _"Like you even need to apologize,"_ this made her smile and sniffle, " _Hey, would you mind staying wtih Sophie today and making sure she's having some fun while I get this all figured out – since you don't work for me anymore."_ His tone was light and teasing, and she bunched up her fist and slammed it along the wheel, pretending it was his shoulder. Her aggravation he must've sensed because he laughed at her.

'Shut up," she demanded lightly, "But yeah, I'll hang out with Sophie once I get things straightened out with Alan. No one ever said your girlfriend couldn't help you keep up on paperwork," She interjected coyly. This made him chuckle.

 _"I was waiting for the comeback."_

"I know you were."

He snorted, " _I'm gunna go. See you in a bit."_

"Yep."

He ended the call and she stuffed her phone into her pocket. It took another ten minutes to make it back to the paddock, where she found Briggs and Silas in the observation area with Echo, Charlie and Blue, doing skin checks while Barry was documenting. No one else was on site, and relief blasted her like wave.

Marianne slammed the brakes on the truck, it skidding in the mud and tossing up specks of it onto the paint job. She grabbed the keys, stuffed them into her pocket, and hustled towards the observation area. Flinging herself onto the cage, she laced her fingers through the gate and hurried towards the entrance, Barry looking over his shoulder as Briggs and Silas fought to keep Charlie calm, the raptors suddenly frightened by her abrupt entrance.

"Barry!" She exclaimed, slipping in the mud. Stumbling forward, she caught herself and hurried towards him, Barry giving her a look as if she had crawled out of a hole. She looked to Silas and Briggs and beckoned them to come.

They joined her, Briggs wiping muddy hands on his equally filthy pants, "What's the matter?" His thick Australian accent raked over her nerves, but she shooed it from her mind and she took the chart from Barry, signing her name to it. She flipped the page to an exam sheet, and she brought out her cell phone.

Browsing through her contacts, she found Ian Malcolm and Ellie Sattler, friends of Alan she'd met through travelling and seminars. She'd met Malcolm only briefly, but Alan had found him trustworthy, despite his annoying personality and his unorganized existence within mathematics and "chaos theory". On the occasion she'd met him, he had reassured her that a friend of Alan's was a friend of his, and that if she needed anything, she could call him.

Ellie, on the other hand, she knew well enough to reply upon herself. She'd spent time working with Ellie when she'd come to work for Alan right out of college – they'd shared tent and became girlfriends, despite their age differences. Ellie was the sister she'd never had, and they'd kept contact throughout the years by emails and occasional letters – by no means best friends, but friends nonetheless. She'd helped Marianne learn her way around a dig site, and she'd helped her get acquainted with Alan's rough personality and demanding expectations.

She scrawled their numbers on the exam sheet and ripped the page out of the clipboard – these people she knew and trusted, and they were people with significant pull in this business. She could trust them to back her up against Vic, against Claire, and against Wu. Marianne knew she could send copies of the files to each of them and know they'd keep them safe, and that's what she was going to have Barry do. She pointed the pen at the three numbers.

Barry watched her carefully, "These phone numbers are people that I trust explicitly," she swallowed, looking between Briggs, Silas, and Barry, "I want you to make copies of all the records we have and get them to these three people –"

"Wait, what?" Silas interjected, "Why –"

She shook her hand in front of him, and shook her head from side to side, "I don't have time to explain it now, and I need you to trust me on this one," The rumbling of an engine coming to the paddock ended her sentiment, and she saw it was Owen and her Camaro, followed by a transport truck an SUV which belonged to Peter Bartlett. She pressed the clipboard to Barry's chest, handed him the pen, and hurried out of the paddock.

As she was about to swing herself out the door, the raptors screeched and stopped her, making her look over her shoulder at them. Her pulse picked up and heat spread throughout her body as they watched her carefully, mouths parted and eyes eerily watching her, as if they knew what she was up to. She looked at them a few moments, the animals unmoving, Marianne herself unwilling to back down. A car door slammed suddenly and jerked the attention of the three raptors. Satisfied that they were finished staring her down, she hurried towards Owen, who jogged towards her.

"We're gunna put her in a containment room for now," he referred to the rooms they used for quarantines, for when the animals got sick or carried parasites communicable to the rest of the pack. She nodded and followed him, and only once they were inside did he ask her, "You got the papers and stuff done ok?"

She shook her head, "No, I didn't leave them at my place," he was about to protest as they pushed open the heavy garage door. She caught him with a look that told him not to jump to conclusions and that she wasn't stupid, "if Claire comes and wants me out of there, I don't want her to see the documents and the files," he nodded his understanding, grabbing her wrist and pulling her into the empty, dark room. He fumbled along the walls for the lights and found them, "And besides – I'm gunna have Barry make copies and send them over to Alan."

He stopped, "What? Marianne, you can't –"

She grabbed his other arm to calm him down, "Trust me, ok?" She looked over her shoulder, where one of the transfer tech's was standing, waiting for them. Owen nodded and began readying the room for Delta's arrival, and Marianne hustled out with the tech towards the van, where Peter and a group of men and women were carefully lowering Delta onto a transfer.

. . .

 _Ring. Ring. Ring. Rin -_

Nick Van Owen rolled over roughly and slammed a fist on top the alarm clock, only to realize it wasn't the clock keeping him awake – his clock didn't ring, and it didn't illuminate the night either. He fumbled along the nightstand until he felt the cell phone, still on the charger, and he answered the call lazily after the first few swipes at the green button. Sitting up on his elbow, he checked over his shoulder half expecting his wife to be there – but realized she wasn't, as she hadn't been every night when he'd checked after their divorce.

Answering the call, he croaked, "Van Owen," he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. He glanced at the clock and found that it was almost six in the morning, and he couldn't believe someone was calling him – or that he hadn't checked the ID. What could someone want at this hour?

" _Nick,_ " the voice sounded oddly familiar, " _it's Ian Malcolm. We haven't talked in awhile."_

His eyes popped open at that one – sure enough, the voice matched with the name brought back a fog of memories. He remembered Ian Malcolm – had worked with him and his girlfriend Sarah Harding on a few occasions. He still knew Sarah and worked closely with her, sure – but Malcolm? He hadn't talked to him in, well, years. "Dr. Malcolm. I guess you can say it's been awhile."

 _"It has. But I was calling on behalf of a favour you owe me and Sarah."_

He rubbed his eyes and yawned, standing. Stretching an arm above his head, he replied lazily, "At six AM?"

Ian chuckled, " _Yeah, I know it's early and late notice, but I was wondering something."_

Nick let out another yawn, "Yeah, sure?"

" _Do you still have that Cesna you used to fly?"_


	28. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Chapter Twenty- four**

"Marianne,"

Jolted awake by a warm hand on her shoulder, Marianne gripped both sides of the office chair Owen had dragged down from her desk to the containment unit after the vet and transport team's had left. She'd promised to sit with Delta for awhile when Owen went to get something to eat, but she hadn't realized she'd fallen asleep, cell phone and clipboard still at hand.

Even more surprising, Barry was the one who had jostled her awake. She blinked, reached up to rub her eyes, and sat up straight in the chair. Her eyes darted over to the exam table, where Delta was laying motionless, still attached to monitors. She sighed, closed her eyes and exhaled, and turned to Barry.

"Yeah, Barry." She reached up and rubbed her throat, which was sore, causing her voice to sound more the like croaking of a toad than anything else. She stretched her neck and Barry crossed his arms over his chest, eyes focusing on Delta.

"I got done what you asked," He said quietly. He looked solemn and sad, and she felt sorry for him. He too had a connection with the girls that she envied, and Marianne was sure he'd been worried sick the entire night about poor Delta. She stood and reached out to touch his hand, but he continued. "Doc said she'd be okay."

Marianne nodded and smiled softly, her eyes finding Delta in the middle of the room again. "She's gunna be just fine, Barry."

He smiled at her, "Yeah, I know. I just worry about her and her sisters, ya know?" He then reached into his back pocket and handed her a piece of paper, then slapped a finger on it – it was a room number. "Owen wants you to meet him at the resort – that's the room number I guess. He called about an hour ago," she wrinkled her brow at him, "He told me not to wake you."

She nodded in affirmation, "Okay. I'll go then – you okay here?" She clapped a hand on his shoulder. He nodded.

"Yep. Put that box back in the truck, figured you'd be still driving it."

She grinned, "Thanks. I'll be back a bit later. Call if she wakes up and we're not here." He waved her off, nodding, and she found her way to the truck. It was daylight now, and she checked the clock on her phone's display, finding it was well after nine in the morning. She'd slept that long? Shaking awake her muscles and feeling them pull sore, her stomach rumbled and reminded her she hadn't eaten anything and that it was coming back to haunt her.

Marianne found herself at the resort much later, parking her car in the employee lot. She checked with the front desk and they waved her in, and she entered the elevator, pressing the button for the seventh floor. One the car levelled off, she padded down the hallway and located the room number that Barry had given her and knocked on it lightly.

There was no answer, so she knocked again, this time opening the door slightly and peeking her head inside. She found the main room empty – and that Sophie had a upper class suite – and stepped inside cautiously, as if she'd just discovered a forbidden garden. "Hello?"

Not moments after she'd called out the greeting, Sophie came around the corner in a flash of green and yellow – complete in a sundress and sandals, her hair pulled into a half ponytail and secured by a white bow. She came at Marianne wildly, and Marianne welcomed her with an open arm, the girl latching onto her leg protectively and grinning up at her. "I'm so glad you're here!" She exclaimed, her smile genuine and wide, "We get to spend the day together!"

Marianne gave her a soft smile, "Yes, I know." She replied, trying to mask a yawn. She failed. "I'm very excited too –"

"Soph," came the gruff reply from around the corner. Sophie took Marianne's hand and led her around the corner, where Marianne was surprised to find a sunken-in living area and wet-bat, complete with a flat-screen TV and French doors leading into a master bathroom suite. Owen, freshly shaven and in his work clothes, poured a glass of orange juice and replaced the jug in the mini fridge. Sophie released her hand and bounded towards him. His eyes levelled on Marianne and he gave her a sultry, yet oddly gratifying, stare. "Marianne needs to get some rest before she does anything. We had a bit of a rough night."

Her brow wrinkled, Owen bending to pick her up. He draped the other arm along the counter top, and Marianne gave him a look. He still hadn't told Sophie he worked with raptors yet, and Marianne knew the statement would shake the question alive. She swallowed and Owen gestured with a hand to the fridge. She shook her head no.

Surprisingly, Sophie said nothing regarding his job, except, "What happened?"

"One of the animals got pretty sick," Owen wrinkled his nose, "But she's better now – Marianne and I had to take care of her last night, so we didn't get much sleep."

Sophie looked to Marianne, "You do look kinda tired."

Marianne gave a weak laugh and tucked a curl behind her ear. "Thanks," she snorted lightly, "I am very tired. Did you get any sleep?" She asked the question to Owen, who set Sophie down and they both watched her run away to the couch. Sure enough, she clicked on the television, and Marianne stepped closer to him.

He shrugged, "Some. About three hours," he waved it off, "But I'm okay." He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, "I've gotta go get some stuff done with the girls and clean up – Briggs did a perimeter check and said there's crap everywhere. And I want to keep close tabs on Delta until she wakes up."

Marianne nodded, "Sounds good. Will you call me if she wakes up?"

He gave her a cocky half smile, "No, I'll let you wonder." At this she slugged him in the arm and they both watched Sophie for a moment, content that she was enjoying her program. He waved Marianne into the bedroom half of the suite. Moving out of Sophie's line of sight, he took her hands and interlaced their fingers. "She's got a lesson with a few of the palaeontologists at the practice dig sites today at noon, so you should be able to sleep while she's gone." He looked back to the room.

"Wonderful," she purred.

"I was thinking we could talk to her tonight," he turned back to her, "about…stuff."

Marianne smiled at him, suppressing a giggle. "Stuff, huh?" She stroked his knuckles with her thumb and gave him a playful half smile, "But yeah, that's fine. I'm going to see if I can get a hold of Alan today – I had Barry make copies and get them over to him, in case something happens."

He sighed, "That could get me fired, you know."

She nodded, "I know," she looked away, "But something tells me Vic is going to get involved and this biopsy is going to prove right. If they do take after birds more than reptiles than they'll be easier to train – and genetically modify,"

"Not necessarily,"

She gave him a blank stare, "You know Wu will come up with whatever InGen wants him to with the right price tag," she interjected, "So having a copy of the research isn't a bad thing, if Wu and Vic do get involved."

"You're sneaky."

She chuckled, "One of my many fine qualities."

He chuckled back at her, his eyes dancing as they scanned her own. "How did I tell myself you weren't my type all these weeks?"

She shrugged and released his hands, "Denial is a fickle thing." Jerking her thumb towards the door, she pointed at it, "Get going. Keep me posted if something happens. What time are you thinking we tell Sophie?"

"Over supper," he sauntered towards the door, "Around five-thirty." Marianne nodded and crossed her arms over her chest, him digging in his pocket for the hotel key. He had two, and tossed one at her. She caught it. "You can hang out here until tonight, and then we'll get you settled at my place." He opened the door, put a hand on the handle, and turned to point a finger at her, "Get some sleep."

She saluted playfully, her tone cracking in a giggle. "Yes, sir." He rolled his eyes at her, winked, and hustled out the door, closing it lightly behind him. Marianne turned to face the adjoining room, where Sophie was watching TV, and she scratched her head. Wrinkling her nose, she decided on a shower before eating anything.

. . .

Henry twisted the key in the lock of his office door, Claire tapping her foot hurriedly behind him. Once finished, he stuffed the keys into his pocket and they began down the hallway briskly, to where Claire had a car waiting to take them to the raptor paddock on the main level. He could tell she was furious, but she did well to contain it behind her pleasing and disgustingly loyal facade.

He asked, "When did she perforate her stomach?"

Claire hesitated, "I'm not sure – but I heard something about a bone biopsy, and Randal seemed pretty interested in it. Alan Grant came up in conversation – so I'm not sure what's going on, Henry." They took the elevator and he reached for her wrist before she boarded. Freezing, he locked eyes with her.

"Don't let Alan Grant get involved," he chastised her dangerously, his voice an eerie calm, "These animals are _my_ responsibility, Claire, and I will not have outside research getting involved. There's far too much speculation in palaeontology and genetics that could end this entire project. It's far too risky. Do you understand?"

Looking somewhat concerned and fearful as his grip tightened around her wrist, Claire nodded. Her voice cracked, "I understand," she squeaked. He released her a bit roughly and hurried onto the elevator. Straightening his tie, Claire boarded and hit the ground floor button, and the doors slid closed.

He cleared his throat, "And make sure Randal gets off this island, Miss Dearing. She's not good for what we have going on here, and I won't have heresay being spread around." Claire said nothing, only nodded, and when the car came to a stop he turned to her and pointed at her, "Masrani will hear about this, I assure you."

. . .

Alan Grant slid his aviator sunglasses on top of his head, having removed his hat due to the gusty winds of the San Francisco morning. After an all-night flight from Montana to California, he was beyond exhausted and in need of coffee and a shower, but he hadn't cared as he slammed the door of the rented Dodge and approached the familiar figure across the parking lot, duffle at hand.

Ian Malcolm, dressed casually in jeans and a black Under Armour polo, was talking with a taller, younger man beside the Cesna plane. Ian had called Alan to confirm that he did know someone who could fly them to Isla Nublar, as a favour to him. Alan froze when he took in the figure of the man in khaki pants, a tan safari vest and a grey v-neck t-shirt. Complete with the same short, curly haircut, Nick Van Owen hadn't changed a bit since he'd last seen him – except he'd gotten a bit stalker, and he now wore facial hair to accent his age.

Nick caught sight of him an abruptly ended the conversation with Malcolm, nodding his way. Ian turned and instantly smiled, approaching Alan with arm's outstretched. He hadn't changed much either – except now he dyed his hair black and had a bit of wrinkles around his eyes, but he still possessed the same gait as the Malcolm from twenty years ago. Alan set down his duffle and quickly embraced Malcolm.

"Good to see you, Grant." Ian pulled away, smiling that half smile and chewing on gum just as he always did. His voice grated over Alan's nerves – he hadn't liked Malcolm much before Jurassic Park. But, they had managed to stay in contact over the years, however limited contact it had been.

"Same to you, Ian." His eyes levelled on Nick, and he narrowed his gaze as Nick shifted uncomfortably on his feet, head dropped to stare at his feet. Alan's feelings towards Nick hadn't changed since he'd ended his engagement with Marianne years ago in favour of another woman, and Alan hated that he was involved. He gave Ian a side-glance. "What's Van Owen doing here?"

"He volunteered to fly us to Isla Nublar," came the quick reply.

Alan quirked a speculative brow, "Volunteered, huh?"

Ian huffed and rolled his eyes, Alan retaking his duffle. The two of them took long strides to the plane, "Well, not exactly," Malcolm confessed, "He took some persuading, but, after I told him your Marianne was involved, he changed his tune."

This didn't surprise Alan, "I'm sure he did." His tone was biting and harsh, and he stalked right by Nick without so much as giving him a second look. Nick sensed his hostility and said nothing, just disappeared to the other side of the plane as Ian opened the door to help Alan load his luggage.

"You two know each other?"

Alan gave him another side glance, "You could say that. Long story."His tone, unforgiving, was darker and unrelenting, and Ian caught on quickly. Realization lit up in his eyes and he nodded, whistling.

"I get it. He and Marianne, were, uh –"

"Yeah," Alan interjected quickly.

Ian awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, "Oh, well then. That changes it up then, doesn't it?"

Alan pulled himself up into the plane as Nick settled himself into the pilot's seat – quiet and careful, as he should've been in Alan's presence. He scowled at Nick, set his hat beside him, and watched Malcolm haul up into the plane. He leaned forward, clapped a hand on Ian's shoulder, and replied.

"You have no idea."


	29. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Author's Note:** Holy crap, everyone! 501 reviews and I can't even comprehend how many that is right now! Let me say I am so honored that so many of you have taken the time to get to know this story and support me in this - I'm touched that Marianne means so much to you and that her relationship with Owen is gratifying! It encourages me, the positive reception of this story. I haven't written a story yet that has so much feedback, follows, and alerts! A author's greatest joy is getting to know her readers, and knowing their thoughts, and I've gotten to do that here!

I'm supremely honored to have written something that speaks volumes to everyone here - I really didn't think this would garnish so much attention. It was just a brainchild, just one of those things that you think in a movie theatre when you watch the actress doing a great job of making you hate her and thinking: "Man, I wish there was a good female lead that could really spice things up and give Owen a run for his money." And, with that thought, I met Marianne and introduced her to _Jurassic Park/World_ and got to create a story that I love, with a message that is very near and dear to my heart.

I just hope to continue to please you all and gain your trust, loyalty, and attention! So - a hugmongo gigantic hug to all of you and an even bigger thank you! I could not have done this without your kind words of encouragement, your pleadings to continue, nor your appreciation. Celebrities really aren't lying when they tell fans that ya'll make stuff happen.

And, I am very proud to announce that I have decided to continue this storyline into another story once I finish up here! I have a brainchild plotting for another installment of Marianne and Owen's journey - so, if you're still reading all the way down here, I'd appreciate your thoughts on the idea. But, sorry, no spoilers here - what kind of author would I be if I didn't leave you on a cliffhanger?

Again - ya'll are amazing, and I hope you don't get tired of hearing it! *Kisses and hugs and waves*

Let's continue the adventure, shall we?

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Five**

Marianne stepped out of the shower forty-five minutes later, quickly tossing her curls into a slip bun and glancing around the hotel's bathroom. Quickly shedding the gauze Owen had dressed her leg with, she was satisfied that it had stopped bleeding. She shrugged on the fluffy bathrobe and stepped out of the steaming room to find Sophie still watching television – a National Geographic special on dinosaurs. Quickly pulling some toilet paper off the role, she pressed it to her thigh and tied it off with the tie of the spare bathrobe, and promptly notified the front desk to send up some gauze and iodine.

Marianne wrapped her arms around her middle and padded down the stair of the sunken in room, moving around the couch and stopping at the arm.

Sophie smiled at her and Marianne gave her a cheery one right back. The little girl had her hands folded on her lap, remote by her side on the cushion of the couch. She was intently watching the program, and Marianne could see the wheels churning in her brain – taking in the information. She sank onto the arm of the couch and put her feet up on the cushion, dropping her elbow to her knees. Droplets of water from the ends of her hair dripped down through the collar of the robe, and she wiggled her toes. She watched the program of a CG triceratops grazing with its infant, the narrator giving off facts as if he were reading off the script with a monotone, not caring.

"You okay if I go and get some sleep?" Marianne asked, her eyes slipping from the television to Sophie. The little girl nodded, pushed a curl behind her ear and looked at Marianne. "I'll set an alarm on my phone so I don't sleep all day. Sound good?"

Sophie dropped her gaze to the couch and then nodded slowly. She was irregularly quiet – every time Marianne had seen the girl she was a bubbling concoction of curls, smiles, and energetic joy that was beautifully entertaining and innocent. She was the sparkling gem Marianne remembered of childhood, and she very much reminded her of Owen – she had the same smile and the same joy in her eyes. But now, her eyes were sad and her personality deflated and a type of gray that made Marianne's heart quiver. Obviously, there was something wrong, so Marianne quipped, "Sophie? What's up, honey – is something wrong? Did something happen with your Uncle?"

She shook her head, "No, that's just it," she squeaked, "he was acting all weird – not like Uncle Owen," her voice dropped into a hush, "that's how I know something is wrong." Then, she slipped off her sandals politely, brought her legs up under her, and shifted to face Marianne. "Something's wrong, isn't it, Marianne?"

Marianne swallowed the lump of cotton that had replaced her tongue and there was an abrupt knock on the door – room service with her bandages. She held up a finger and slipped off the arm of the couch, "Hold that thought, Sophie honey." She hurried up the step, received the package, and padded back into the room only to find Sophie at the wet-bar pouring herself a glass of orange juice, which was sitting next to an already poured glass. Marianne slipped by her and set her items on the granite countertop, and began unwrapping the package. Sophie replaced the jug back in the mini fridge, and scrambled up into a bartstool, reaching for the glass. Marianne slid it towards her carefully. Sophie watched her hands as Marianne applied iodine to the gauze.

"Did you hurt yourself?" Sophie quizzed.

Marianne looked up at her, "Yeah, but it's nothing. Just want to make sure it closes up okay." She moved aside the robe off her legs and began wrapping the gauze, Sophie unable to see behind the bar. Soon she tied it off tightly and began throwing the wrapping away. Once done, she grabbed the orange juice and took a long drink, Sophie eyeing her expectantly. Setting the now empty glass on the counter with a _clack,_ she smiled at the little girl. "That's good stuff."

"Tell me what's going on, Marianne," she asked quietly, "Please?"

Marianne sighed and scratched her wet head, then took the empty glass and moved to the barstool beside Sophie. She slipped onto it and set her elbows on the countertop, moving her fingertips along the rim of the glass. She let out a sigh and glaned at Sophie, "I'm not sure I should tell you, Sophie. Your uncle might want to discuss this with you."

Sophie huffed, frustrated. "He never wants to discuss anything important," she said, anger tinting her voice, "he thinks I'm a little kid. I'm not – I know what he does, you know."

This made Marianne's attention pique. She swiveled in the chair to stare at Sophie, quirking a brow at the little girl. She rested her hands on her lap, still holding the glass. "You do?"

Sophie nodded, "He works with the raptors, doesn't he?"

Marianne turned her head and gave her a cautious look, "Where'd you hear that?" She wasn't exactly sure if Sophie's statement had been a confident answer, or if the girl was smart enough to probe Marianne with a statement sounding like a confident answer or not. So, she shot the girl one of her own instead.

Sophie shrugged, "He was talking to my Mom one night on the computer," she took a quick drink, smacking her lips together, "I didn't mean to overhear, but I did. He told my Mom not to tell me until I was older and could understand." She jutted out a lip quickly, but hid it well. "I know more about dinosaurs than my teacher does," she shot Marianne a look, and she could see the grief in the little girls eyes.

Marianne rolled her lower lip into her mouth and gently bit down on it, nervously. She was treading dangerous ground here with Owen's niece – obviously, if Owen hadn't revealed this information to Sophie himself already, he wasn't ready to. But, the intelligence in this girls eyes told Marianne that she was more hurt by his secrecy than anything else. She thought about his statement about dinner tonight, and decided to hold off. "I'm sure your uncle has his reasons, Sophie. And I'm sure he doesn't want to hurt you, so he's being extra careful." She knew that sounded horrible and defeating, but she didn't know what else to say. She reached up and tweaked Sophie's nose, "He'll tell you what's going on soon, I promise."

Sophie gave her a weak half smile, "You're a very nice lady, Marianne." She took another quick drink, "And I'm glad you work for Uncle Owen. I think you're super – and I think my Uncle likes you." She grinned at Marianne now, "Do you like him?"

As soon as the girl had asked it, Marianne's face had exploded in a mad and wild blush that left her face burning and her heart fluttering. She smiled at Sophie and shrugged her shoulders sheepishly, and looked away back to the empty glass she'd abandoned on the table – the girl had asked a question she wasn't sure she wanted to lie about, and it tickled her stomach with excitement. She could hardly wait to see him again. It was if suddenly he'd flipped her world upside down and had her on a string, commandeering her every movement and every thought – in a good way, one that made her belly swirl with warmth and butterflies. It was like taking the down-hill slope on a rollercoaster: exciting, thrilling, and oh so satisfying.

She could hardly believe they actually were together still, after all that had happened in the previous hours. It was almost as if it were a dream and she was unable to wake up out of it – or want to. She chuckled and looked back to Sophie, who had a sparkle in her eye, as if their conversation about Owen keeping secrets from his niece hadn't even happened. "Well," she chuckled nervously, "I think your uncle is very nice and good at what he does." Her eyes drifted to the bedroom, where he'd taken her hands and stared at her as if she were the only thing in the world, rocking her to a part of herself she hadn't known existed. It sent goosebumps and a speed of warmth through her blood that was unusual, but pleasant. "And I like him, very much." She turned back to Sophie and smiled warmly at her.

Sophie's face cracked into a smile and she flung herself at Marianne, and Marianne quickly opened her arms to receive the girl. Sophie wrapped her arms around her and hugged her tightly, nuzzling her cheek against Marianne's chest and melting into her like butter. "I always knew Uncle Owen would find someone pretty and fun and special," she said dreamily, "and I'm glad it's you."

Marianne's heart pitched – what? Had she misspoken? Pushing Sophie away, she dropped her brow into a furrow, the girl staring at her with a geeky smile and rosy cheeks, matching with sparkling eyes. "Sophie!" She said, her voice raising in pitch, almost to a squeak, "I didn't mean –"

"Yes you did!" Sophie giggled, pointing at her, "You blushed and got all dreamy like Mom does talking about James Bond and all the guys on TV!" She giggled now.

Marianne's mouth fell open, gawking. "No I didn't –"

"You did, you did- yes you did!" Sophie bobbed in her seat, "But don't worry, I won't tell!"

Marianne let her head fall into her hands and she slipped off the barstool. Frustrated and utterly in shock that the girl had read into her statement so far, she turned to face Sophie and pointed both her index fingers at her, taking small steps backwards towards the bedroom, "I didn't say anything," she interjected, her tone playfully rough, "and don't you dare tell your Uncle. I'm going to sleep. I'll be up in a couple of hours to take you to your class."

Sophie giggled, "Okay, Marianne."

Marianne let a hand drop, then she narrowed her eyes, one still pointing at the little girl, "You, Sophie Forester, are way too smart. I'm serious – you can't tell your Uncle, because he thinks you don't know."

Sophie made a pretend 'X' over her heart and couldn't contain her giggles – or her dancing eyes, which Marianne found fixating and entirely entrancing. She found the little girl inside herself when she stared into Sophie's eyes, and she felt young and perfect, like she could tell this girl anything or be anybody and still be accepted. She felt adored and worshipped and – admired. Something she'd never felt before.

She couldn't contain her giggling. "I won't – I promise!"

. . .

Owen rubbed his mustache and sighed, watching the mess of his supply shed as if it would suddenly get up and walk away. Barry stood beside him, arms crossed high over his chest, leaning back slightly, shaking his head. Closer to the paddock, Briggs and Silas oversaw a team removing brush with skidsteers, pickups, and chainsaws.

Owen hadn't heard or seen anything of the raptors all morning, which concerned him. Barry had said he'd heard them calling out most of the night, after he and Marianne had left with Delta to the resort – and they'd done nothing since then, their calls quiet. Owen was sure they were displaced and sorely without understanding, if not concerned for their sisters – they did, after all, have social skills. And, they had never been separated before – so, he was certain they were up in arms about the disappearance of their sister, as any sibling would be.

He rubbed the back of his neck now, sighing. He was exhausted and every inch of him hurt, and he was emotionally spent. Barry had pulled him aside in the office when he'd arrived and demanded to know what was going on – and Owen had gushed everything as if he was a teenager all over again. He explained the situation with Delta, Hoskins, Grant – Marianne getting fired, her argument with Wu and Claire, their "moment". That had caught Barry off guard, but in a good way, and he'd cracked a smile. "I told you you hadn't given her a fair shot," he'd said.

Now he'd spent the better half of the morning overseeing clean up and wondering about not only Marianne, but his raptors. He rubbed his eyes now, trying to shake himself awake with some type of physical movement - but, he was so exhausted he couldn't bring himself to physical labor. Barry turned, clapped a hand on his shoulder and suggested, "You should get some coffee, my friend. I can get the skidsteer to clean this up."

Owen nodded, "Yeah."

"You look worried," Barry inquired, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Owen turned and scuffed his foot against the ground, kicking a rock as he did. He shrugged a shoulder, "You worried about Hoskins?"

Owen shook his head, "No, that's not it," he let his head fall back and closed his eyes, following Barry at a lazy gait, "What's happened Barry? The last twenty-four hours has flown by and my life is entirely upside down. Delta's sick, the entire raptor project is compromised, and Marianne and I are-" he puffed out a breath, "-Marianne and I." He gestured with his hands, laying them out before him as if presenting. He then reached up and ran his fingers through his hands, "Holy crap, Barry. It's just…god, I never imagined –"

Barry chuckled at him, "Life can get crazy sometimes," he tipped his head to the side as he talked, "in good ways or bad ways. Delta being sick is bad, yes; and so is Hoskins." He scuffed his shoe against a rock, "But you can't focus your life on the bad things, Owen. Marianne – she's a good thing: a beautiful, understanding, strong woman that somehow has managed to fall for you."

Owen gave him a playfully offended look, "That supposed to make me feel better?"

Barry chuckled, "Maybe. My point is, Owen, that life's gunna give you some tough challenges. But, it's your responsibility to be the toughest opponent those challenges face. You gotta go for the things you want and hold on to them with both hands, or they're gunna get away from you. And those tough spots, well," he winked at Owen, "I think you're stubborn enough to get through those tough spots on your own."

Owen stopped and clapped Barry on the shoulder, giving him a somewhat goofy grin. He nodded to Barry's statement and then thought about his words – he was right. Owen had breezed through life passing one thing on to the next, not satisfied and unwilling to finish what he'd started. He hadn't really put his nose to the grindstone – he'd gotten out of the Navy, dropped out of college, ended a few serious relationships, all because he hadn't wanted to put the effort into them and get through the rough spots – it was easier to quit and be quick about it.

But now, Barry was saying something he truly understood: stick to your guns and you'll go far, that the bad stuff was going to happen regardless of how many things you start and stop – and that you couldn't keep bouncing around your entire life. He was right – Owen was thirty-six years old and unmarried, uneducated, and living the life of a college bachelor. Here he was a man living in the shadow of a teenager, and he hadn't accomplished anything. And Barry was calling him out on it.

"If you weren't my friend I think I'd have to slug you." Owen shook his head.

Barry laughed, "Thank God I'm your friend then." He winked, Owen clapped his shoulder, and they headed back towards the paddock.

They were headed up to the office when Silas slid to a stop around the corner, kicking up dirt and mud and stones. He was panting, sweating, and his cheeks were red, his hair dripping with perspiration. He grabbed the railing to the staircase and Owen dropped his face into a furrow, immediately concerned by the man's disheveled appearance and abrupt entry. "Owen," He panted, "It's Delta. She's up and it's not good."

"Show me," He immediately burst into a run towards the containment unit, past the skidsteer and workers, Silas straight on his heels. Barry wasn't far behind them, and Owen barreled through the doors, kicking them open and hustling like his life depended on it. His chest constricted, his heart cascaded, and his skin iced over when he heard her screeches.

They echoed like death on the walls of the containment unit, sending pinpricks of shivers down his spine, rocking it as if it were taffy instead of bone. Every inch of him flared with warning and caution, but the part of him so dedicated and attached to these girls – his love form them – rocketed him forward when everything else told him no. He came to the second door – the cage part, and scanned in. Silas slowed outside the cage, lacing his fingers through the gaps, Barry shouldering through.

Owen was displaced when he saw Delta thrashing against her restraints – the monitors were going haywire as her body furiously moved on the exam table, the gauze stained with blood. She screeched and screamed, her high-pitched calls eery and stomach shaking. Owen's knees quaked, but he moved forward, and tried to mask the fear trembling through his nerves and bombarding his brain like a tidal wave. He came to her, gently, slowly moving a hand towards her face.

"Delta, sweetheart," he cooed huskily, his voice dropping low and calm. AT his presence she immediately stopped screeching, but she did bristle, and her breathing turned into snorts or rage and betrayal more than anything. He slowly sideled up to her, then dropped onto the rolling stool beside the table and slowly edged towards her, his eyes locked with her own intelligent one. It scanned wildly around the room, panicked and frightened, and he slowly moved his fignertips across her skin graciously, clucking his tongue and cooing softly. Barry came up to her other side doing much of the same things, and as he touched her, she thrashed once, "Shh, it's okay, baby. Owen's here," he whispered, letting his lips gently brush her skin. The heart monitor began to beep slower, and he watched the readings on the screen drop. His own resolve was beginning to melt away at her fear and her pain – he wanted to cry for her, take it on himself, blame himself for this. Wanted to break down right there and cry right along with his sweet Delta, who'd had it rough since day one.

Barry looked at him across Delta's neck, "You should call Marianne. She will want to be here."

Owen checked his watch – slightly after noon, and Sophie would be at her lesson. He nodded slowly and swallowed the lump in his throat, his stomach doing turns and somersaults at the thought of her here with Delta, her raspy voice, her calming and serene touch that was surreal unto him. When had she invaded his thoughts so and sent his world into a disastrous mess? He nodded continually, eyes locked on Delta's frame. "Yeah. Could you get Peter down here and tell him she's up?"

Barry looked to Delta and slowly stroked her head, his eyes not leaving her form. "Yes. I can do that."

Owen took out his phone slowly and found Marianne's contact – quickly pressing the call over her picture. He remembered the day at the mineral pool when she'd sent him a text just inside the bushes and he had to crack a half smile at the look on her face when she'd been discovered. He pressed the phone to his ear and used the other hand to stroke Delta's brow. He smiled softly at the animal, who's eye skittered about as if she were being tortured. His chest burned.

The line connected, " _Owen. I just dropped Sophie off and I ran back to my place to get some more clean clothes–"_

He cut her off, "Delta's up – you'd better get down here." His eyes shot towards the monitor – her heart rate was still up and her breathing labored. Delta was still panicking, strung tight and unsure. He could still see the uncertainty in her eyes, the fear pooling up in her brain. She let out a screech when he rolled closer to her and he winced. "It's okay," he murmured to the raptor, "I'm right here."

" _I'm coming. Be there shortly."_ The call disconnected and he shoved it into his back pocket.

"She's coming?" Barry questioned softly.

Owen nodded strongly, "Yep. Be here shortly."

Barry went back to stroking the crown of Delta's head, "You as concerned about that monitor as me?"

Owen didn't say anything, just locked eyes with the monitor, watching the heart-rate. He turned back to Barry and puffed out a breath, taking his free hand and raking it through his hair, only to tousle it - to try and relieve stress and hide the trembling in his hands. He pinched his fingers together to indicate a small amount. Barry wrinkled his brow at this, and Owen explained with what he hoped to be a confident retort.

"Probably a bit more."

. . .

"Island control, this is Alpha Foxtrot Zero, do you copy?"

Alan had taken to reading up on some of the Jurassic World materials that Marianne had looked up online before her departure – he'd quickly grabbed them while marching out the door to catch his flight to San Francisco. She'd gotten everything form blueprints to executive summaries to vacation brochures – things he'd expect for a field assistant with a degree in Communications to acquire before taking a job. What he found interesting, though, was a press release on Henry Wu before he heard Nick send out the request for island control.

They'd been silent on the drive – Malcolm reading and scratching notes in a journal, Nick awkward and uncomfortable as he'd flown the plane. Alan had caught him a few times trying to come up with something to say, but he'd chickened out and had stayed quiet – which was fine, he'd hear enough of his lies and excuses when they saw Marianne. Alan had debated whether he should warn Marianne or not, and had decided better of it. Best to not make her worry too much in advance over nothing.

The reply from the control tower came quickly _"Roger that, Alpha Foxtrot Zero. State your presence."_

"Wilco that, Island Control. Request permission to land."

Control hesitated a moment, but then came back. " _Negative, AFZ, we do not allow private aircraft on the island, copy."_

"Roger, Island Control," he shot Malcolm a nervous look, then reached up to situate the headset, "We have proper documentation from the Costa Rican government, Island Control – we're here for a documentation of the park's inhabitants for a research article, over."

Quiet, for a long moment. Alan lowered the press release and glared at the mirror to Nick's right. Nick caught him, looked away nervously, and then tapped the airspeed gauge with a knuckle. A few more moments went by before Malcolm commented.

"They got Doogie Howser running the place or what?" He snapped.

They came back, the static over the line almost unbearable. Alan reached a hand up to plug an ear, and Nick took a breath – Alan watched him in the mirror. " _Wilco that, Alpha Foxtrot Zero, you are cleared to descend at 3,500."_

Nick released his breath, and Alan realized he'd been sweating. Actually, he realized too he'd had his toes curled from the moment he'd left the trailer. Every nerve within him was pounding warning messages – every instinct was screaming like hell, thrashing at his resolve like a wild animal wanting loose. His chest was hurting and his stomach was tied up in knots, but he'd forgone all of the regrets and all of the vows of never going back for Marianne – something big was up, and something was _wrong._ The entire situation reeked like trouble, and Alan wasn't about to let his best friend's daughter crash and burn and end her career.

He was getting her off that island.

. . .

"Zach, Grey – I'm not mad. I'm furious!"

Grey scooched lower in his chair, if possible, as Claire paced back and forth in front of them, slapping her hands together and talking as fast as she could. He shot Zach a look, who had his arms crossed and too was slouched in his chair. Grey looked back to his Aunt, who had a packed and very swollen nose and stained tank top – and, who was, shockingly, in jeans and sandals.

She'd been going off for an hour, rambling about Owen Grady and Marianne Randal – the woman they'd met at the Innovation Center during the storm – and mumbling about the raptor that was sick and how she was going to kill Owen and a thousand other people who had no idea of. He'd just been aching to go to the Mosasaur show, as Mo was getting a special feeding today, and Violet, the trainer, had promised them a sneak peek at breakfast this morning.

"What were you thinking – running off with someone you just met? What do they teach you in school these days?"

"Owen _works_ with you, Aunt Claire," Zach interjected, Grey gripping the arms of his chair tightly. He watched Claire stop, whip to face his brother, and glare at him as if she could shoot lasers out of her eyes. He didn't like that look, and swallowed the frog that had clogged his throat the moment she'd stormed into their hotel room.

"I don't care if he's the President of the United States!" She blurted, "You had no idea who he was and where he was taking you – and, of all places, it was the raptor paddock! Do you know how many things could've went wrong? If I had a week I couldn't list them all!" She was ranting again, pointing a finger at them and gesturing between their two chairs, "You two are supposed to be _responsible._ You're old enough to know who and who not to go with – to make decisions that are safe and smart," she knelt before their chairs, "You're mom would kill me if she found out something bad happened. She has a hard enough time with this place the way it is."

Which was true, Grey surmised. She'd been against them spending the summer with Claire in Jurassic World from the moment Claire had sent the tickets – but Grey had been so excited to see his lifelong passion fulfilled that his parents had finally caved and thought better of the situation. Now, as he looked into Claire's eyes, he saw her concern for them and their relationship with his mom: it was already on thin ice, as his mom didn't trust Claire much with kids. The last thing he wanted was for them to fight again and be separated.

"We're sorry, Aunt Claire," he finally piped up, his voice sounded less and less brave and grown up as he would've preferred – why did he always have to sound like a baby? "But he did tell us he was going to talk to you and take us back to the resort."

"Well, then that explains it," she tossed her hands into the air and gave them a dumbfounded look – one that was sarcastic, "If you wouldn't have snuck out of the resort _we wouldn't be having this issue_ , now would we?" When her glare didn't rouse them, she sighed and messaged the bridge of her nose, the other arm wrapping around her abdomen. "That's it. I'm done. You two can go to lunch now."

Her phone went off and Grey glanced out the window of the resort, to where the Tyrannosaur Kingdom was beginning to swamp with people – he'd like to see another feeding before their lunch again. He turned back to Claire, who turned and answered a text.

She began walking to the door, neck craned to look at her phone, and she told them. "After lunch I have a business meeting with the owner of the park," Grey and Zach shared a look, then watched her open the door. She held it open with her foot then tossed them a look, phone still at hand. "I'll have my assistant come and escort you around the park, since I don't want you running off," she wiggled her fingers as if they were bugs and waved them off. Zach was glaring at her now and Grey didn't think that was appropriate, and her face softened just a little and she sighed. "I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't care about you two. I want you to be safe. That's all."

"Yeah, well, we're glad you care now," Zach mouthed off, "Because you sure haven't seemed to care until today when your butt was on the line." He got up, stormed into the bathroom, and slammed the door.


	30. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

It took Marianne fifteen minutes to quickly pack a few more things from her bungalow, get out the door, and rush to the paddock. She was sweating again, her heart bombarding, and her breath coming heavily and weighty in her chest as she'd roared into the paddock area, barely missing a guy on an ATV hauling a huge branch. He'd flipped her off when she slammed the brakes next to her Camaro – abandoned and sitting in the sunshine, now seemingly dominant compared to the weather yesterday.

She flew out of the truck – surprisingly, in a sundress and boots. Marianne hadn't thought she'd be called back to the paddock so soon and had decided to wear something appropriate for their dinner tonight with Sophie, which she was still up in arms about the child reading deeper into their conversation anyway. So, she'd decided to be adventurous and wear the same red sundress she'd worn her first day, complete with a pair of boots that had a buckle, and her hair tied up into a bun with tendrils around her face.

Now, as Briggs and the cleanup crew he was working with stopped to stare at her as she hurried towards the containment unit, she was regretting her decision already. Thank goodness she hadn't been wearing makeup, or it would've been melted off her face by the time she got passed the first door and spotted Owen inside the cage. Barry was nowhere to be seen.

Heart hammering, she called out, "Owen!" He abruptly got up off the stool and hurried towards the cage wall, and she met him there. Groping for her card, she pressed it against the scanner – only to find it buzz annoyingly at her, flashing red. She slammed it again, only to find the same action. Her hands were fumbling when Owen finally opened the door for her.

To her own shock, she flew past him and hustled towards Delta's bedside. She halted before fully getting there, the insane beeping of the monitor capturing her attention. She furrowed her brow and frowned at the machine, which showed rapid heart rates and plunging blood pressures, as well as decent oxygen levels – but overall, abnormal readings. She, panting, looked at Delta, who was trembling and thrashing and snorting loudly, her eye scanning her furiously. Marianne suddenly regretted her abrupt and rushed entry and Owen came up beside her. He took her hand and gave her a weak smile.

"How long has she been like this?" Marianne whispered, her voice shaky and concerned. She felt genuinely afraid, standing here beside Delta, knowing she was as sick and in pain as she was. Her eyes caught the blood splotched on the gauze and her mouth parched. She looked at Owen again, her face softening.

"Since I called you," he sighed, "I'm not sure if it's pain or what, but she's acting like she's never seen me before. Usually I can get them to calm down, you know that."

Marianne nodded, swallowing, "Did you call Peter?"

He nodded.

She turned to Delta and slowly moved onto the stool, locking her stare with Delta. It was as if the animal's soul was crying out to her – she was lost, afraid, confused, and hurting. Marianne could see it all pooling up inside of her eyes, which were so skitterish and so displaced – unsure and so unlike normal. Usually these yes could cut Marianne to pieces, render her powerless and unsure of her own existence, much less make her feel strong and empowered. But now, they were like the eyes of a lost and sick child wanting their mom, or some kind of compassion – they were begging and pleading for help, but fighting to stay alive, stay safe, stay in control.

She wheeled, hand extended, to Delta's side and gently let her hand fall to her brow. Instantly, Delta shrieked, but Marianne brought her face close and touched her brow to Delta's nose – the animal unable to thrash her head, given restraints. With a shaky and uneasy hand, Marianne began stroking Delta's brow, with the other she placed it tenderly over her restrained arm, letting it slowly move down until it rested on her sharp and poised talon. She stroked it calmly, closing her eyes. Steadying her breathing, she cooed the animal as if she would a scared child clinging to her for dear life – which, she imagined Delta doing at that very moment. Her soul reached out for the animal's, and she felt Delta's reaching out to. Every nerve within Marianne was exploding with fire, but she didn't care – it could've been a thousand degrees and she wouldn't have cared.

She released a warm breath, letting it float on Delta's skin. "Hey, Delta. Shh. It's me, Marianne – your friend. I'm here to help," her tone was low and raspy, like it always was when she was whispering. She could feel the words catching in her throat, but determined not to show weakness, she swallowed her throb. "Everything is okay, my sweet girl. I'm right here – right here," She opened her eyes and turned her head slightly to find Owen standing at Delta's head, one arm wrapped around his chest, the other rubbing his mustache. She closed her eyes slowly and reopened them, sighing.

If this is what parents felt like sitting and watching their children die in a hospital, Marianne thought her soul was going to die. She couldn't imagine if this was her own child, sitting here in pain, lost and confused, scared beyond belief and fighting to stay in control and stay the predator, the one on top. A tear slipped out of her eye and Marianne quickly blinked the rest away – in a way, this was her child. She'd invested so many years into studying these animals with Alan and living in wonder of their memory, their existence on this earth. She'd invested four weeks in caring for these animals and noting their behaviors and learning how to better care for them, though she hadn't spent much time training with them at all. And, she'd spent time getting to know their Alpha – the man she had found herself falling for before she even knew she'd tripped.

She whispered, even quieter – to the point where she knew Delta would be the only one to hear her. "I'm so, so sorry, Delta. So sorry." She nuzzled her brow tighter into Delta's nose, felt the animal's snort tousle her curls, and made small circles on her skin with her fingertip. She sat there, blocking out everything besides Delta, until she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.

Then, she felt warm breath swirling around her ear and down her neck, playing with the curls around her face, which tickled her collarbone. Owen's smell of jungle, rain, animal and, oddly, peppermint sent her senses whirling about her head and made her lose her nerve. She choked on a sob and felt her body begin to tremble as his body lowered into a crouch beside her stool. But, strangely enough, the urge to cry left her and instead she was filled with pitting anger, then oddly enough joy as his other hand rested respectively on her thigh. He bobbed on his legs, then nuzzled his nose into her neck and inhaled deeply, sending her stomach soaring. His mustache tickled her soft skin.

"You okay?" He breathed, his voice sounding not only like bourbon, but also like warm honey sent over her skin to displace any fear or worries she'd ever had in her entire life. She felt her resolve melt into a puddle around her heart, and every piece of her felt exposed there with him at Delta's side.

"I don't know," she whispered, "I…I just hate seeing her like this."

His arms slowly snaked around her middle and pulled her close, the stool rolling only slightly. He stayed strong, planted like a firm oak tree that had been rooted there since forever. She melted into him and let her hands fall from Delta, her head still resting against the animal's snout, Delta still snorting and breathing heavily. But not longer trembling. Owen said nothing, just held her there, and she whispered. "Thank God for you, Owen."

He chuckled, "I do too."

She gave a weak and defeated chuckle, "I can't believe just yesterday we weren't _us._ It feels like it's been this way forever."

"It's a good feeling," he breathed onto her skin, raising his chin to plant a gentle kiss behind her ear. He smiled and chuckled, his lips brushing against her hair and he gave her an affectionate squeeze, "I was a fool at the bottom of the hill, Marianne. I should've kissed you – I feel like I should've kissed you a thousand times already. I have no idea what's happened to my life – but I know it's a good type of not knowing."

She smiled but didn't say anything. Just hearing his voice was like sweet music to her ears. She closed her eyes again and breathed, a mixture of his peppermint smell and Delta's smell of iodine and animal sent her mind whirling in a thousand directions. She focused her mind for a moment, wondering if she could picture her life anywhere but here in this moment – and, oddly enough, she couldn't. She couldn't imagine being anywhere else than right here, in Jurassic World, with Owen Grady and his raptor Delta. And, as insane as that picture sounded – she didn't want to be anywhere else.

'This feels like a dream,"

"It's not – god, it's not," he inhaled her scent again. "Whatever you use in your hair is the best smelling thing since tequila."

She let out a laugh, but then quickly bit her lower lip.

"You're a piece or work,"

"You love it and you know it."

She pushed back slightly from Delta and swiveled in her chair to face him, taking his hands in hers. He was still crouched, staring at her with eyes that seemed as if they were the deepest parts of the oceans now illuminated and beautifully complete.

Then, abruptly, the door past the cage gate opened and bounced on the hinges, Peter and Neela hustling through, carrying a kit and donning their white coats. Peter scanned his card, hurried through, nodding at them. Neela gave them an unsure and quizzical look, then set the stuff on the floor as Peter was already shooting off orders for a chart and vitals.

Owen stood and took Marianne's hand with him, and she rose. He welcomed her into an embrace, her wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her head against his hard chest, feeling the tightness and listening to his heartbeat – which was steady and calm, despite the circumstances. Again, she got the feeling that she felt like a parent watching her child sit in a hospital, doctor's and nurses hovering about and fixing everything that she had failed to anticipate – and that Owen was her man, standing beside her, being the rock she needed to keep from swaying.

Marianne hadn't heard Barry come to the cage, but she saw him from the corner of her eye lace his fingers through the cage and lift his chin to her. She instantly released Owen and looked up to him, then left his embrace and ventured over to Barry, Owen not far behind. She crossed her arms over her abdomen as Barry puffed out a breath, shifting his weight on his feet.

"What's up, Barry?" Owen asked quietly. Marianne dared a look over her shoulder to Delta, to find Neela and Peter set to changing her bandage. She turned back to Barry and watched him rub his jaw awkwardly.

"Claire just called the office," he said, his voice filling with frustration, "And she said a Cesna just landed, claiming to be here on a documentation assignment for a journal article or something."

Marianne's brows rose, and she looked at Owen. He gave her a look that read "Okay, so?" and they both turned back to Barry. She waited expectantly, half her mind on Delta – no, probably more than three quarters. Actually she didn't know where her mind was at this moment, because she was exhausted and beyond herself at this point.

Barry continued, "She wants you at the resort right away, Marianne. Said something about Alan Grant and Ian Malcolm and a bunch of other things I won't care to mention. She was really, really upset."

Instantly, before Barry had even closed his mouth, Marianne was out of the cage and bolting for the door. Her heart exploded as it a grenade had set off within her chest, capturing every inch of her attention and stealing her breath. She felt like she couldn't breathe and her legs were moving so fast she hadn't realized she possessed so much speed. She flung herself out the door, bolted for the Camaro, and fumbled with the door. Whipping herself inside, she didn't hesitate to blindly turn the key. In a blur, she punched the gas, whipped the wheel to dodge the truck she'd arrived in, and tore out the paddock – tires spinning, leaving behind marks.

The resort was packed – people were mulling about everywhere, relieved to be out of the resort and other buildings and back to life at Jurassic World. Marianne could hear the chatter even inside the car, which was steaming hot inside and causing her to sweat again, but she didn't care and couldn't even fathom A/C. Her eyes scanned everywhere among the crowds of people, all pushing and shoving and lazily moving along as if the world wasn't ending – which, Marianne was pretty sure it was and she was the only one aware or even the least bit concerned. Slapping the wheel, she gritted her teeth, threw the car into park, and popped open the door, somehow remembering the keys.

Staggering out and almost slipping, she slammed the door – Claire would probably have it towed. She stumbled forward, her body in a tense and awkward state halfway between shock and terror, and she slammed right into a woman carrying a beach bag. She mumbled an apology, managed to make it across the courtyard to the Samsung building, and hurried up the steps.

Instantly when she walked through the doors, she was greeted by two security guards in their formals. They seized her arms and promptly hauled her towards the steps, escorting her up. She was in such an amazed stupor looking around the building that she didn't care that people where murmuring and pointing at her, or that she was panting and sweating and nervous beyond belief. At the top of the steps, the escorted her to the front desk, where Vivian, the man called Lowery, and Claire were waiting for her – along with three other recent arrivals, all carrying luggage.

She froze when her eyes landed on the familiar fedora, and the guards stopped abruptly, jerked back by her sudden weight. Her eyes widened and her body tensed, her heart now anchoring itself at home in her ankles. It was like a movie had went into slow motion and everyone other than her was stopped. She could feel every part of her body, every organ moving within her, and she thought for a minute that she had died. Marianne had long since stopped breathing and reminded herself to inhale a fresh breath through her nose.

Vivian looked to her, pointed subtly, and signaled the three new arrivals to turn around as Claire came stalking towards her like an uncaged animal about to slaughter something. Marianne, upon seeing Alan quickly shirked off the escorts grip and staggered forward, slowly, one step at a time, until her eyes landed on the man with dyed black hair and a black polo – Ian Malcolm, she recognized, who waved at her and smiled broadly. Then, her eyes leveled on the third man – a man in his early thirties with facial hair and familiar brown eyes that sent her memories screaming at her to run away as fast as humanly possible.

Claire was about to engage her, but Marianne ignored her and moved past the woman in jeans and sandals, until she came to three men. It was as if time itself had checked out, leaving her trapped within this moment and within the hundreds of stories she'd heard from her time in Montana. It was oddly familiar, this feeling – seeing Alan, Ian and Nick together. Like déjà vu that she'd never experienced before. Almost holy, almost whimsical. Her face distorted into one of confusion and surprise, and she crossed her arms over her middle, looking between the three of them. She said nothing, until Malcolm broke the silence.

"Good to see you too, kid." He chuckled. Marianne's eyes leveled on him then turned back to Alan, who was staring at her with a small smile – but his eyes were frightened, panicked, almost terrorized. She could almost feel the years crashing into him and reminding him of the times of Jurassic Park, that this was a bad omen. Marianne, with an arm still wrapped around her middle, used the other to gesture between the three of them.

"What in the name of God are the three of you doing here?" She sounded like a wife that was standing in disbelief in front of her husband and his friends, utterly agitated and beyond confusion in the situation. She didn't have to wonder if her brow was wrinkled, because she felt it all the way into her neck. Marianne looked between the three of them, expectant. When they said nothing and Vivian and Lowery exchanged glances, she asked again. "Well?"

"You said you needed some help, Marianne and –" Alan took a step forward. She put up her hands, waving at him to stop, taking a half step back as she shook her head, trying to make the pieces fall together in her brain. Her eyes opened on the man to his right, the one that looked oddly like Nick Van Owen, but she was sure it was a figment of her imagination.

"No, no, you said you were going to talk to me later." She said the statement to Alan, but her eyes were cemented on the man. "You didn't say you were coming to the island!"

"Well, it is later," Alan started. Her gaze shifted to him and she glared. Her raised his hands and approached her, placing them on her shoulders. "I only came because you said this was urgent. You know I wouldn't have if I didn't think you were in some deep crap."

She all out frowned at him. "I know you wouldn't come because you vowed you never would," she crossed her arms over her chest, "what about everything you told me about this place, huh? Alan –"

He shushed her, "We'll talk about this later. Right now I think you're about to get your butt royally chewed by carrot top over there," he gestured to Claire with his eyes, "I just wanted to see you before you got you got your butt handed to you. She's putting us up in the resort," he moved in to whisper in her ear, "I think she's being halfway decent to save face, but then I could be wrong."

"You brought Malcolm with you?"

He nodded, opened his mouth to speak. But she didn't let him.

"And who's that?" She asked, her voice dropping. The look in Alan's eyes confirmed everything she'd been fearing since she first laid eyes on the man, and something within her froze over and retreated deep into her belly. Her throat constricted, her heart pitched, and she felt her skin glaze over with an icy sheen that sent goosebumps over her arms. She felt sick to her stomach, and dared a look at him – only to glance away quickly when he looked at her. All the hurt she had suppressed within herself over Nick Van Owen quickly resubmerged, and she pushed away from Alan and turned, hustling back down the stairs. "No, no, no, no I can't do this. Won't do this. Just no, no, no!" Claire, Alan, Malcolm, the security guards, and Nick all hurried to the balcony's railings above her, but she was already weaving in between people to get to the door. Pushing it open as if she were desperate for air, she stumbled through it before one of them called out her name after her.

She hit the open air, took in a deep breath, grabbed at her hair, and screamed.


	31. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

Owen slammed the door to the office, the heavy steel door falling into place echoing off the walls of the office. He whirled around, raked his hands through his hair and bent at the waist to look at his feet. Then, he fell against the door, let his head snap back onto the reinforced window, and he closed his eyes as he found his way to the floor.

Though the news on Delta was promising she'd be up and able to walk within a few days, Owen was enraged. It was as if something had snapped inside the containment unit when Marianne had bolted like lightning from his side, unwilling to hear reason and unwilling to comprehend action. She'd torn out of the paddock before he could even make it out of the building after her – and he and Barry had shared a look, Peter and Neela pausing their work to stare blankly at the field assistant's abrupt and less than graceful exit.

Now he was furious – furious at Marianne for being so quick to leave without so much as a word of explanation, furious at Jurassic World for putting him in such a situation, furious at himself for so easily being captivated by the events around him. It was all too much, this change of events, and he wasn't sure if he was focusing or thinking clearly enough to exist. He put his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands, trying to breathe slowly and stop the aching pounding in his chest. He was sure he was starving to death and dying of exhaustion the way weight pulled at his body, but he didn't rightly care. Owen Grady, for once in his life, wanted life to just slow down and let him catch up.

If a week ago you'd told him he'd find himself in the midst of groundbreaking research, a sick raptor, a completely mind-baffling situation with his boss, and the most astounding relationship on the planet with the most mind-boggling woman in the world; he'd probably have laughed in your face. After all, he was man not easily overtaken by his surroundings – he usually could navigate problems pretty good and keep his head screwed on straight. But, not this time. The events of the last four weeks and the last twenty-four hours had him so up in arms and lost that he couldn't even process what day it was, much less make career, relational, and emotional decisions. Always the cool and cavalier Owen Grady, he was lucky and cocky and could talk himself out of any issue or problem – but, not this time. Someone else was doing the talking, and Owen had no other choice but to sit and listen for a change.

The phone in his back pocket vibrated, pulling him out of his sulking pity-party. Owen fished it out of his back pocket, the screen lit up. Puffing out his cheeks, exasperated, he flipped it right side up and glanced at the notification. Something sank like a stone in his belly when he read the text on the Iphone screen – and his heart constricted as if it were in a steely vice. He bristled and a chill ran down his spine, rattling it as if it were a hollow tin can inside of him.

 **MARIANNE: Please, come. I need you.**

He didn't even need to think about it. Almost instantly he got himself up off the floor. Never before had Owen been so hell-bent on being beside someone other than Marianne – she did something to him when he was with her, almost as if she had a spellbinding power over him. He wanted nothing but to see her smile and watch her sapphire eyes of fire sparkle in laughter and kindle flames of life. Owen Grady had never been smitten before, with any woman. They'd all just been opportunities of the moment, hasty decisions in a life full of decisions to make. But, with Marianne… never before had he wanted to keep someone safe and cared for, other than his family. Never before did he have the feeling he had in his gut now for another person.

It scared the living crap out of him.

He stretched his neck, grabbed the rifle off his desk which he'd brought in with him from Marianne's truck that morning, and slung it over his shoulder. He was halfway to the door when the phone vibrated again, this time stopping him in his tracks.

 **CLAIRE: We need to have a talk. Sooner rather than later. Wu –**

Owen didn't even finish reading the text, or bother to open it before stuffing the phone into his pants pocket. He pulled open the door, closed it roughly behind him, and walked out to the middle of the catwalk. He looked down, the sun blaring heat on his back and the humidity instantly dotted sweat beneath his collar. He leaned against the railing and stared into the empty, silent paddock.

Then, pursing his lips, he let out a whistle. Instantly, the bushes rustled to the right, and out came Charlie and Echo, hissing and griping at one another. They stared up at him, and he whistled again, this time calling for Blue to surface. She did, parting the bushes from the running trail they had beat down in the paddock, and she took point in front of her sisters.

He could instantly tell they were on edge, as if waiting for him to try and take another one of them out of the paddock. He knew they were concerned about Delta and where she was – they'd never been separated before, and he knew it wasn't good for them. They were social animals, and each of them played a key role in their pack when it came to structure, communication, and role. He thought about Delta as he stared at them, their careful and intelligent eyes locked on his form above them, calculating his existence and presence, casting wondering gazes. They knocked him for a loop every time, these girls, and as he'd told Barry when they'd first gotten old enough to question him: he'd never been intimidated by a woman before and now he had four of them.

He let his wrists rest on the railing, hands hanging over the edge. He crossed his feet at the ankles and leaned forward, watching them with a smirk. He knew better than to back down and break the stare between the three of them – a sign of weakness, and he was by no means the weaker. Marianne had reminded him one day that he wasn't in control of these animals – that actually, they controlled him by forcing him to maintain routine, less he confuse them and slip up. Her words to Wu came rocketing back to him, crashing into his soul like a tidal wave with the entire force of the ocean behind it: they were failing to see how small people really were in light of these animals.

Blue took a step forward and snapped up at him, Owen straightened and gripping the railing now, his brow dropping into a hard, unforgiving glare. He narrowed his eyes at her and put a hand into the air, the other pointing two fingers at Echo and Charlie behind her. "Knock it off, Blue," she hissed at him and lowered on her haunches, talons on her toes twitching. "Don't sass me!"

Charlie let out a guttural growl, and he snapped his stare at her. His tone shifted, "Watch it. You're not helping!" His chest began to burn, and his leg muscles spiked with heat and trembling, but he didn't falter.

His phone beeped again, and this startled them. They broke their predator trance and Blue tipped her head at him, as if it were the prettiest sound she'd ever heard. He didn't break formation or eye contact, but Echo let out a yelping cry and the three of them turned and bolted back into the foliage, towards the wall closest to the containment unit, as if the challenge hadn't even happened. He let his hands drop and he headed towards the stairs.

He descended heavily, watching Briggs and Silas instruct the cleanup crew continually, which was still preoccupied with cleaning up brush and other fallen foliage. He rounded the truck, letting a finger run along the pinstripe, and watched as Silas shoved Briggs out of the way, the bigger Australian man glaring and tipping his hat back. Owen cracked a small smile at them and popped the latch on the door, grabbing the wheel of the truck and pulling himself up.

He reached for the ignition, flicked the keys, and leaned back in the seat, one hand draped over the wheel, the other on the gearshift when the sight of a messenger bag on the passenger's seat caught his attention. He reached for it, leaning across the seat and drug it to his side. Spreading it open, he scanned the contents with his eyes and found a tablet, her wallet, her knife holster, and the Beretta tossed inside. He'd forgotten she cared such weapons, and smiled crookedly at the objects, a devilish gleam clouding his eyes. He thought it was incredibly sexy.

In the far corner of the duffle, he saw a dark picture frame and he grabbed it. Turning it over, he found it was, surprisingly, a picture of himself with Blue. They were in the observation cage, Blue contained, him touching noses with her and touching his brow with her snout. Her eyes, however, were focused on what he assumed to be Marianne snapping the picture. Barry was in the background with what looked like Delta, but it wasn't the central focus of the picture.

Owen's heart began to pound inside his chest and heat overcame his body. His stomach began to twist and churn as if butterflies were bustling to get out and fly in a thousand different directions, and he found himself fumbling with the back of the frame until it came apart. He plucked the photo out of the frame and looked at the back of it – she'd scrawled in red ink the date, which was two weeks ago, and his name: _Blue & Owen, 2015 – Jurassic World. _His throat went dry and his mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton for a thousand years.

He let his hands drop to his knees, his head falling against the seatback, the truck rumbling as if to call him out on his feelings. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh, and he found his brain picturing Marianne the first day he'd seen her – in the same red dress a she was wearing today, sandals – her hair pulled into a high, bouncing, furiously curly pony-tail. She'd been fresh off the mainland, and he hadn't realized how beautiful she'd been, when suddenly the picture in his mind abruptly switched and he saw her standing in the rain, at the back of the pickup truck when they'd been unloading Delta.

She'd been dishevelled and undone – her hair stringy and wet, curls heavy and forgotten in the rain, her body drenched in mud, blood and water. Her skin, now accustomed to the sun and dark, had been speckled with water – her eyes a light and icy blue that had caught him off guard then and now rendered him powerless in his memories. He opened his eyes, finding himself staring at the ceiling of the truck, and he looked down to the picture again – he hadn't realized how much Marianne had been a part of these animal's lives these past four weeks, or how much of a friend she'd become to him either. She'd melded right into the group as if she'd been there since day one.

 _What's happening to you?_ He asked himself as he began putting the frame back together. He made a mental note to make sure and get a picture of her for himself – he didn't ever want to have to rely on his memories, which could be so twisted and manipulated, to see her face. He pushed the duffle away from him and pressed the brake, shifted into drive, and left the paddock, opening the window and being blasted by hot, jungle air.

He wasn't sure what was happening to him, but Owen Grady knew one thing.

He was glad it was.

. . .

With the help of Alan and security, they'd been able to get Marianne back inside the Samsung building, drawing the attention of swarms of guests and photographers – information having been leaked that the infamous Alan Grant of Jurassic Park was on the island. It had taken extra guards to keep the roaring crowds at bay enough for them to ride the escalator back to Wu's office off the labs.

Marianne felt as if she'd been placed under a microscope, the way Nick was staring at her. He had a mixture of confusion, giddiness, and nostalgia on his face, while the same familiar lust she'd experienced in collage bombarded her from his eyes. Oddly enough, she felt noting in her gut towards him – nothing but regret and shame for her time spent with him. She'd been so young and so stupid to be with him, so foolish and naive. The car levelled off, and the four of them exited - meeting up with Claire, who'd taken the other elevator alone. Still dressed in jeans and the same stained tank – top, she glowered at Marianne as if she were the devil reincarnated.

Marianne ignored her, eyes blankly staring ahead. She followed Claire only out of necessity and instinct, her body a mixture of numbness and confusion, as well as burning anger. Alan was here at Jurassic World after giving her a hard lecture and thousands of promises that he'd never come back. How easily he'd betrayed his own claims, and it infuriated her that he'd come without telling her. His hand was firmly wrapped around her arm protectively as if she were a child threatening to bolt – his eyes still the same: sparked with an eternal curiosity, but every watchful and fearful of the present state. She could feel the tenseness of his body even from her place beside them.

The door to Wu's office opened, and Marianne spotted Lillian rise from her place on the couch across the room. Wu, she noted, was seated at his desk playing once again with the brain teaser in his hands. He, wearing a black turtle neck and ashen colored pants was the epitome of the rich and well-off, of a man who knew his place among science and the world of celebrity. He'd changed history and science, and he knew it. Complete with slicked back hair only slightly greying, Marianne pictured him twenty years ago – fresh out of college and brimming with potential, innocence, and curiosity. Now instead was hardened by experience and time, poisoned with delusions of control and grandeur.

She could feel the atmosphere in the room switch when he looked up to Alan, his eyes narrow, but a hint of a smirk resting on his lips dangerously. Alan's grip on her arm instantly tightened and she felt her muscle contract under the pressure. She closed her eyes and let out a short breath, Ian stopping beside her and glancing around the room. Wu's eyes shifted to Ian, and Ian tipped his chin up at Wu as if to overcome him. Nick came up beside Ian, gave her another look and then focused his attention back to Wu, whose eyes had settled on her.

Alan released her arm and she swallowed thickly, the lump in her throat all but disappearing. She took in the man's scowl, and she knew in that moment that she'd gotten to him – that she had tested his resolve and had broken it. He'd been shaken by what'd she'd said, plagued by memories of Jurassic Park and the failings of John Hammond. She knew, in the moment they locked eyes, that he knew he didn't have the control he wished he did – and that he also knew that she'd been right, but was unwilling to admit it.

He set the brain teaser down delicately back in the corner of his desk, and then slowly retracted his hand as if he'd just placed plutonium in a bomb. His eyes lingered on the toy and drew back to her, where he gave a sly smile as if he'd just cornered his prey. Steeping his fingers, he pushed his chair back delicately and rose swiftly, almost airlessly. "Ah, Miss Randal." His tone was dripping with venom, a sticky sweetness she knew could only be forced for the sake of his daughter and her own counterparts in the room, "We meet again. In light of the circumstances, I hope you are doing well."

She furrowed her brow at him, "I'd say I'm about the same as when I left, thanks for asking."

He chuckled, eyes darting to Alan and scanning him before coming back to her. He rounded the desk coolly until he came to the other side, standing directly before her and leaning back into it, crossing his arms over his chest. His left brow quirked, "I'm sorry to hear that," he looked to Ian now, "though, I'd say it appears you've had some time to process our discussion."

The corner of her mouth lifted into a half smirk. So he was scared – or concerned about Ian and Alan's presence on his island and amidst his research. The thought made her wonder how a younger Henry Wu had appreciated the presence of such experience and wisdom among his research and developments twenty years ago in Jurassic Park. "A lot has happened since our discussion, Dr. Wu."

He pursed his lips. "I see." He then pushed himself off the desk and motioned for the door to his office to be closed, now guarded by two security guards. Claire moved to the sidelines, midway between the couch where Lillian sat and their group. Marianne reached up to scratch her temple, suddenly feeling exposed and very awkward standing in a dress and boots tin Wu's office. No one seemed to notice, except Claire, who was glaring at her as if she could murder her with such stares. Marianne looked to her and then back to Wu, who had his hands cupped behind his back and was standing before Alan – still shorter than him, even in age.

"Dr. Grant." His tone was stoic, but seasoned with a light and disgusting sweetness that Marianne could hardly digest. Ian gave her a look and she gave him a weak smile, and he reached up to rub her shoulder as if to tell her she was doing fine under such scrutiny. When Wu didn't say anything else, Alan quipped.

"Dr. Wu."

Henry chuckled and looked away from Alan, stepping away gracefully and turning to come to Marianne. She swallowed again, her palms getting warm and slick with sweat. She felt cornered by a snake that was waiting to strike her and knock her resolve around. "Of all places I imagined seeing you again, Dr. Grant, here wasn't one of them. Let me be the first to say I am honoured and delighted to have you with us. Welcome." He spread out his arms as if receiving their party, "Seems it's a small world, after all."

Marianne looked up to Alan, to see he was peering at Wu with narrowed eyes, eyes that were cautious and foreboding. She'd seen that look before in his eyes, one that was warning and dangerous and reminded her that he was angry beyond reason. She could almost see the smoke billowing out of his ears. "Appears that way." Was all he said.

Wu looked to Ian, "And Dr. Malcolm – glad to see you looking so well. I heard you got married to the astute Dr. Sarah Harding. Doing well for yourself, I imagine?"

Ian shrugged, "Best as could be expected I guess. No Olympic Gold medallist or anything." He referred to the injury of his knee, which he'd sustained while being the victim of an accident with a T-Rex in Jurassic Park. Henry's face somewhat curdled at this, but he didn't seem to fazed. "But you," he wagged a finger at Henry, slipped a hand into his pocket, and stepped forward, "You, Dr. Wu, seem to have foregone the mistake of Hammond's park and created one of your own. Seems the blatant disregard for chaos and evolution still exists after all that's happened. Still quite staggering." He rubbed his jaw.

"A lot has changed since 1993, Dr. Malcolm," Wu interjected, "I can assure you we are doubling our efforts for security. We won't make the same mistakes as John did." He spoke as if it were a ongoing conversation that had been dropped for twenty years, only now to resurface. The biting in his tone suggested he hadn't liked Malcolm the first time around, and he was less than impressed now.

"No, no – you're making all news one's it seems, with new staff and new technology."

Wu's brows shot up and he dared a look at Marianne, who smugly smiled at him. She cocked her right hip slightly, wrapped her arms around her chest and stared into him as if a hole would suddenly appear in his face. When it didn't happen, he broke their look and turned back to Malcolm.

He rolled his eyes, now broken from his calm aura. Marianne saw a flash of anger and regret cross his eyes, only to be replaced with his superiority and control of the situation. He was the mastermind of this operation – and they were mice caught in his trap, his grand scheme. "You always were a bit overdramatic, Dr. Malcolm," he crossed his arms over his chest and then gestured to Marianne, "I can see where you get your optimism, Miss Randal. " it was a sarcastic statement, and his brow wrinkled as if to figure her out – as if she were some puzzle that he was hell-bent on completing, some personal project to bring around. She felt like he was trying to trap her in her own words.

"I learned from the best," she deadpanned. His brows rose at this and he shot a look to Nick, who'd crossed his arms over his chest and squared his shoulders by this point, obviously in tune with the overall tension in the room. Claire and Lillian were silent serpents in the corner, taking in the conversation as if it were the moon-landing all over again. "Seems we have an overall theme here, Dr. Wu."

"Or an overall theory," he interjected bitingly, "You're speculations are purely based off of past events and your own personal theories, miss. You have no substantial evidence that this park could, or would, for any reason, fail. Your theories are entirely based off of personal prejudice and post traumatic stress – anxiety. Now," he scanned all three of them, "as it is clear that you are here for a lot more than just documentation and research," he looked over to Claire, "I will be gracious to give you the benefit of the doubt and suggest you are here just to reunite an old memory and exchange old war stories." He smiled at them and chuckled tauntingly, "You are my esteemed guests," he approached Alan from behind the desk, "But, let me assure you of one thing, Dr. Grant. If you so much as come within three hundred yards of any of my research, I will personally see to it that you will never work in your field again – do you understand?"

Marianne's heart pummelled her ribs to the point where she felt as if it would fly out of her chest and beat on the floor. She stepped for Wu, who was now in Alan's face, in a steely-eyed lock with her mentor and greatest friend. "How dare you –" She was stopped when Nick came up behind her and wrapped an arm around her middle and held her back. She stopped, put her hands on his arm and glared up at him. He looked down, gave her a sheepish half smile, and then looked back to Wu and Grant, saying nothing. Heat flared up her neck.

"Don't worry, Henry. I'm not here to steal your research. I'm here to get my assistant and get her away from you." He leaned forward into Wu's face and placed his hat on top of his head, not before sliding his aviators down onto his face. "Because we all know how this is going to end, really. You're just not at the point of accepting it."

Ian piped up, "I said it before and I'll say it again, Wu. Life will find a way," his tone was quipping, and Marianne got the sudden feeling that history was reliving here in the room, and it was suffocating her unknowing brain.

"Or it will die trying." Alan challenged. Then, he looked to Marianne and shot Nick a warning glare. Nick, upon reading the tone of his eyes, released Marianne and she brushed off her arms as if she were being hugged by something equally disgusting. Alan turned on his heel from Wu, jerked his head to the door, and waited for Marianne to lead them from the room.

They brushed past the security guards, the door closing into place quietly, sealing off whatever had transpired just then, and what had transpired twenty years ago. It felt like a chapter had closed for the two men behind her, and Marianne felt her skin bristle with goosebumps. She led them towards the elevator, and once satisfied that Wu wasn't coming after them, pressed the down arrow.

"He's still a cocky little prick," Alan mumbled.

"And he's still as unintelligent and naive as he was twenty years ago," Malcolm snorted, "Geneticists. Can't live with them, can't live without them." He loosened his shoulders and winked at Marianne, chuckling at his own joke. She had pushed herself to the farthest corner of the elevator trying to avoid Nick's eyes and the sudden redness that had overcome his face. He still hadn't spoken to her. "Right, kid?" Malcolm pressed.

She nodded, half registering his statement. "Yeah, sure." Her statement was lost, however, when the car levelled off and dang, the doors parting to the swelled crowds in the _Innovation Center._ Children were running everywhere, and Marianne checked the digital clock over the doors, high in the cathedral ceilings. It was already twenty minutes until two. Her eyes drifted back to the doors, scanning for Owen, hoping he'd received the text she'd sent just before entering the elevators going to Wu's office. Marianne scanned the crowds of unfamiliar faces hoping to find him, and she'd look across the sea of people countless times before she found her eyes back on the door, where a strong and thick frame was pulling it open and stepping inside.

Her heart soared, her stomach flopped, and she felt a burst of speed kick into her chest. She instantly was gone from Alan and Ian's side, shoving past a woman and a baby only to bounce off of them and into a burly Indian man with a long braid and beads. He shoved her off of him and she stumbled over her own feet deeper into the crowd. "Owen!" she cried above their pointless chatter, waving a hand high in the air. She was desperate for his arms around her, for his strength and his certainty – his bourbony voice and strange smell of peppermint. "Owen – over here– ack!" A child ran past her and knocked her into one of the supporting beams, which she stood still against and pressed her back into, watching Owen's unnoticing frame begin going the opposite direction.

Then, she did the only thing she knew to do: she pursed her lips together and whistled loud – the same whistle that Owen called the raptors with. This stilled the people around her and quieted the room as her whistle struck the air like a bell, and she looked around nervously. Owen had stopped, taken a step back and was scanning furiously until she plunged from the support beam and hustled through the crowds until she came to him. Upon seeing her materialize in front of him, he gave her a devious smile and quirked a brow at her. "Miss me, huh?"

She grabbed his hand, "I have someone for you to meet."

Life resumed around them as tourists and guests went back to mulling around the _Center._ They weaved in and out of people, Marianne's resolve coming back to her with Owen right behind her to support her. The thought of what Nick would do when he found out they were together stuck in her brain only a moment before she found herself back before Alan, Ian, and Nick again, this time Owen coming to stop beside her. She released his hand and moved to Alan, who's gaze was cemented hard on Owen. Unfazed, Owen stood before them, rifle draped casually across his shoulders as if it were a normal accessory.

She saw Alan bristle, but calmed her own fluttering heart and told herself he'd be fine. "Alan," she began, putting a hand on his arm, her eyes landing on Owen. She smiled softly at him and continued, "This is Owen Grady – you talked to him on the phone." She gestured to the raptor trainer with a hand and then looked back to Alan. "He, uh, well – he's on the same page as we are when it comes to Wu."

Alan said nothing for a moment and then finally stepped forward, extending a hand – his expression still dauntingly cold and calculating. It sent a shiver down Marianne's spine as she watched their hand connect and shake firmly. Her eyes shifted up to Owen, who had a hard and set look on his face – his jaw was set and his eyes were alive with purpose and strength, and he looked seasoned and experienced. She couldn't believe he was ten years her senior, because he looked younger in light of Alan.

"At least someone other than Marianne has their head screwed on in this place." Alan released Owen's hand. "Alan Grant."

"Owen Grady," Owen introduced himself strongly, his name still sounding heroic. He sounded serious and put together – not the cocky and immature Owen she knew so well. "Nice to put a name to a face, sir.. Marianne's talked about you nonstop."

"I have no doubt," Alan gave her a hardly noticeable smile, "Seems in the rush of getting here she forgot how much she truly missed me." She rolled her eyes at him, and he looked up and around the _Center._ Marianne wondered how much different it was than the Jurassic Park visitor's center. "Well. Seems pretty…state of the art, except for the same old naivety and stupidity in the lab. " he quipped, then levelled a stare at Marianne, who made her way over to Owen. "So much for a place of new beginnings and a promising career," he raised his brows at Marianne, "Seems you kinda blew that one on your own, kid."

She shrugged, "I have that effect on people sometimes." She smiled at Owen, who gave her a soft upturn of his lips – not before shifting his attention to Nick, who had been watching their interaction like a hawk. She nervously released a breath and walked over to Malcolm, who too had sensed Nick's discomfort, given the look on his face. "Owen, this is Ian Malcolm – he's a friend of Alan's from –"

"From the time when you were just beginning to understand what dinosaurs were," Ian joked, extending a hand and stepping to close the gap. He still had the same half smile that she was sure would've rendered women to their knees twenty years ago – but now, they brought wrinkles around his eyes, which in her opinion only added to the entire package which was Ian Malcolm. "Nice to meet you, kid. So Grant here tells me you work with all the teeth? At least, the smart and problem-solving kind."

Owen cracked a smile, "I guess that's one way of putting it."

Alan levelled the next questions, "How long have you been working with the raptors?"

"Since they were born," Owen crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his weight on his feet, as if he were talking to long-time buddies and not strangers who were here to challenge his very existence. Marianne stood by his side, arms behind her back, staring at the three most important men in her world. Malcolm she'd only met once before, but he'd instantly meant something to her as he'd come to her defence against Wu just moments before – and she knew there was a lot more to him than the leather and chaos of 1993 that Alan had recalled to her. Alan would always be important to her, just because he was more of a father to her than anything while being her mentor and friend.

And Owen, well. He was Owen, and he was glorious.

"Interesting. Have they imprinted you or did they completely deviate from speculation?" Alan too crossed his arms over his chest and braced his feet on the floor, as if the pointing and slowing crowds were going to sweep them away. Marianne watched a pair of kids look down at a phone and then point at him, then quickly turn when they spotted her staring.

"They imprinted, yeah," Owen nodded, then shrugged and scuffed his boot on the floor. "I took over the role of their alpha since they left the lab. They know who I am and respond to verbal commands – to the best of their ability."

Alan's brows shot up. "Really."

Owen shrugged as if it were old news, "They respond to commands and certain cues, yes. It's taken four years, but they're coming around I think." He looked to Marianne and she smiled softly at him, "They go so far as to hesitate when I'm on the ground with them."

Ian instantly joined the conversation. "So you mean to say they listen to you when you talk to them and they don't go in for the kill when you're face-to-face?" His brow quirked and he gestured wildly with his hands, now a look of expectation on his face. She suppressed a giggle when she looked at Owen, who's brows rose in surprise by the sudden bombardment of questions.

He blinked twice, "Well, _yeah ,_ but –"

Malcolm swore under his breath, "Chaos. Complete chaos," he left and stepped away from their group, putting his hands on his knees and bending at the waist. Marianne looked to him and then found Nick, who was still planted where he'd exited the elevators, watching their conversation with calm and cool eyes. Upon seeing her watching him, he moved forward and extended a hand as if her stare had been a prompt instead of a casual observation. Her stomach soured and she closed her eyes, waiting, exhaling quietly.

"And you are?" Owen, sensing her unease, lifted a brow to Nick curiously.

"Nick Van Owen," Owen clasped hands with the man and they shook before he removed his own. Nick smiled at Marianne and nodded to her, then gave a look to Owen and he shrugged a shoulder. Alan, in all of this bristled and held his breath. Marianne counted the moments before he spoke again, remembering how he always hesitated between statements – and how much she hated it. "I'm Marianne's ex-fiancee."

Owen whipped a look to her, and she opened her eyes – finding his eyes entirely aflame with questions and shock, as well as hurt and confusion. Alan sighed and rubbed his forehead with a hand, and Malcolm had rejoined them right at the perfect moment, his brows rising quickly in surprise. Marianne let her head fall back and she groaned, only to lower it and cover her eyes with her hands. She sighed and turned to face Owen.

"Your _what?_ "

"I wasn't supposed to say that, was I?" Nick looked between them awkwardly. Marianne shot him an angry and disgusted look.

"You're not supposed to _be here_." Her voice was icy with venom and he nodded slowly, realization smacking him in the face. She shook her head and sighed again; looking away from Owen, only to have her gaze fall on a young couple – not much younger than them – wrapped in each others arms and sharing a light and giggly kiss. She stared at them enviously, only to draw her attention back to Owen's eyes. "It's a long story, Owen, and I was going to talk to you about it –"

"Was?" He interjected, as if the three other men weren't even in the equation, "You _are_ going to talk to me about it, and you're going to do it right now."


	32. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

Marianne's blood ran cold through her veins as her brows peaked in front of Owen, whose face was inquisitive and confused. His eyes flashed the severity of his statement to her and she felt her stomach drop. Frozen in place, she averted her eyes from Owen only to focus in on Nick, who she glowered at as if she could zap him off the planet right then and there. He had to run his big, fat mouth at a time like this!

"Owen, I –"

Instantly, Alan threw a hand up between them, stepping in front of Marianne, who out of surprise, stepped back. Alan faced Owen now, a finger to his chest, his eyes flashing a statement of warning to the raptor trainer. Marianne's nerves clenched and her head began to swim – Alan glared at Owen, and interjected, "What makes you think she's gotta tell you a _nything,_ hotshot?"

Owen's brow dropped into a furrow and he glanced around Alan. Pointing at him, he raised his brows as if to signal Marianne to do _something_ , out of disbelief. "You want to tell him what's going on? Because if I do he very well may not appreciate the way I'm gunna do it," his voice had dropped into a competitive growl that scared the daylights out of Marianne, and she didn't waste time. Dashing around Alan, she latched onto Owen's arm and shot Alan a look.

"Alan!" She blurted, her voice rising in pitch – she knew her face was on fire, but she didn't care, "What are you doing?"

Alan gave her a look that suggested she may have just sprouted wings, and one that was confused beyond belief. Her heart was hammering and she looked up at Owen briefly, only to find he'd curbed his rage by taking deep breathes and flaring his nostrils, his brows seemingly permanently cemented in a scow. She decided she was going to officially kill Nick Van Owen. "You don't owe this guy any type of explanation, Marianne –"

She stepped to Alan, pushed his hand down and shook her head, then looked up into his eyes, her own pleading with him to calm down. It was taking everything within her to remain calm and not drop to her knees and scream – there was far too many things transpiring for her to handle. Marianne was pretty sure she was going to have a nervous breakdown, but before she could say anything, Nick interjected, "Yeah, Annie –" She saw him step from the corner of her eye and then whirled around – her patience and resolve snapping like an overstretched and stressed rubber band.

"Alright!" She exclaimed loudly enough to engage the attention the group of guests around them, who paused to stare at the outburst. Marianne didn't even notice.

Alan, Nick, Ian, and Owen paused to look at her, their faces dropping from stares of confusion and anger to surprise and puzzlement. Owen looked entirely flummoxed and Alan so displaced she would've thought she'd dropped out of the sky. It didn't curb her outburst thought. "Marianne, honey, calm down-"Alan attempted to settle her but she didn't bite.

"Don't 'honey' me, Alan!" She interjected, "Just – shut up for one frickin' minute," she pointed at him and whirled around, tromping towards Van Owen as if she were the Tyrannosaurus across the way. Jabbing a finger into his chest, she sneered at him. "I suggest _you_ keep your mouth shut, considering your on my turf and _my_ nerves," she pulled a thumb back to her own chest, "It's the least you could do in light of everything _else_ you've done to me."

He blinked, and his head dropped to look down at his tattered boots – the same one's he'd worn since they were kids. She didn't care, and turned on her heel back to Alan, stalking towards him. Owen was staring at her, brows quirked, an oddly satisfied and surprised look on his face. She pointed at Alan, "Now _you two._ " She looked over at Ian.

"Marianne." Alan warned.

She threw her hands up to silence him, "Ah, ah," she snapped, "Shut up and listen to me, for once in your life, Alan." His mouth dropped open and Ian rubbed the back of his neck nervously, then ran his fingers along his mouth as if to message the muscles and skin there, "Now. I didn't ask you two – you three – " she whipped a look to Nick, "- to come here. You came and now here you are – and there's a heckuva lot more going on here that any of you three know about." She looked to Owen, then gestured between us, "The first of which is Owen and I. We're 'together'," she made quotes.

Alan's face twisted into a mixture of rage, confusion, and surprise – his brows ultimately shooting up as if they were rockets. "What? Since when?" He demanded.

She put a hand up in his face, "That's for us to know and you to find out," she snapped at him, her brow wrinkled and her lips pulled into a tight line. Alan opened his mouth to interject, but Ian beat her to it.

"Congratulations," he deadpanned. Owen and Marianne gave him a look, and Owen winked at her and gave her a small upturn of the corner of his mouth. She shook it from her mind and stepped back.

"Secondly," she cleared her throat, "is what's going on with Owen's – project," she coded the word as she realized they'd attracted a crowd, then she flew to Alan and grabbed his wrist, gesturing for them to hurry down the steps and into the crowds of people. As she led them on, she stated quietly, her teeth gritted together. "We've got pending documentation that Alan's theory could be right." She looked around cautiously until they breached the crowds and now were on the other side of the roaring fountain, the crowds beginning to disperse. Waving them to follow her, she led them to her Camaro and then stopped short. Scratching her head, she tossed the keys to Owen, and he received them smoothly, "You should get back and be with Delta, make sure she's doing okay. I'll see you tonight."

He wrinkled his brow, "Aren't you coming to the paddock?"

She nodded, "Yeah, in a minute. I'm gunna sign out a Jeep and we'll be there." He nodded and jogged off to where the blue sports car was parked behind Margaritaville. Once he disappeared into the crowds, Ian jerked a thumb in the direction he'd left.

"See you landed yourself an islander," He winked, "Nice work, honey."

She gave him a small smile, and Alan grumbled, "Looks more like Rambo than an islander." She grinned cheekily at him, and led them into Margaritaville, watching out the eastern window as Owen tore out of the lot and towards the maintenance road, careful of the crowds swarming about. Then, there was an announcement for the Mosasaurus showing, which Marianne blocked out. It caught Alan's attention, because she saw him light up.

"I'm gunna go sign out a Jeep, and then we'll get moving." She backed up a few steps, "You guys have to keep it cool. Owen and I have a date tonight with his niece – her name is Sophie – and we've gotta tell her what's going on between us. So I'll make sure you get some dinner passes and whatever before then." She approached the bar now, slapped the counter, and the bartender popped tall from behind the bar. She smiled at her, "Hey, Jackie." She'd gotten to know the staff at Margaretville pretty well, since she ate most of her meals here in the evenings. Jackie, a short brunette smiled at her.

"Hey, Marianne," she looked between the three men behind her and gave her a nervous look, "What's up?"

"Can I talk to Dani? She around?" She mentioned the store's manager by name – she'd gotten to know Dani one Friday night as she'd shot darts in the back room after hours, a bit drunk and gloomy at the time. Dani had befriended her and had driven her home. Since then they'd been acquaintances, and Marianne had taken to her quickly.

Jackie nodded, "Yep. She's in back. Lemme get her." The thin Asian girl disappeared into the back, only to re-emerge a few seconds later and wink at Marianne, "She's coming." She tossed a dishtowel over her shoulder and set to polishing her liquor bottles.

Soon, the kitchen doors whipped open and out came Dani – a tall blonde, athletically built, who was keen on wearing pink and heels. She was like island Barbie, perfectly put together and personalized – but she wasn't all that she appeared. Marianne looked over her shoulder as Ian, Alan, and Malcolm stared at the leggy blonde as if she were the goddess Diana. Dani spotted her and smiled. "Hiya, Marty honey! What's up?"

Her voice, raspy and twinged with southern accent, blasted the air and hushed the conversation in the bar. She, unfazed, hurried towards Marianne, complete with heeled flip-flops and a pink sundress. Her hair was hanging down her back in wavy, honey-colored strands. "Hi, Dani." She hugged the blonde quickly, "Howya been?"

"Just fine," She drawled, the men catching her eye. Always on the lookout for Mr. Right, Dani was the horniest and most desperate woman Marianne had ever known. Her eyes levelled on Nick and she smiled cheekily at them, "Who're your friends, Marty?"

"Friends from the ML," she interjected, "but I don't have time to explain, Dani. Would you mind setting them up with a couple of drinks and some snacks while I sign out a Jeep?" She gave Dani a pleading look and Dani waved the idea off.

"Sure, sure," she winked, "Anything for Marty's buddies." She looked towards the bar, "Anything you want, fellahs." Picking up on her quick dismissal, Marianne stepped to close the gap between them and stuck her hands into her pockets. "What's up? Something going on?"

"Nothing I can talk about right now," Marianne whispered, "But I'm gunna need you to entertain them tonight too. I've got – an engagement." Dani nodded and gave her a smile, winking. "What's that for?" She demanded.

"You can tell me later," she turned from Marianne, headed towards the bar, and pointed a finger at Marianne. "I want details!" She reached under the bar, grabbed a bottle of Smirnoff. She poured three glasses and Marianne hustled out the door, towards the direction of the maintenance garage, jogging across the courtyard of main street and dodging guests.

. . .

"I told you not to get Grant involved, Claire!"

Claire, utterly to the point of going ballistic, watched Henry pace back and fort in his office. She wasn't exactly sure what had just happened, but she was certain it had made her look bad. After Henry had dismissed Lillian from his office and made sure the door was closed, she'd known she was in for it.

"I know that, Henry, but I had no –"

 _Brrring! Brrring!_

Claire jumped at the familiar ringtone and scrambled to dig the phone out of her pocket. In shaking hands she managed to answer it, forgoing the ID and just pressing the phone to her ear. Henry stopped his rage and paused to breath steadily, eyes watching her and making her want to crawl under a rock – her own heart hammering like a brass drum. She put up a finger to halt Henry, who started towards her, and she turned away from him. "This is Claire," she tried her best sound composed.

 _"Claire! Simon. I was wondering if you could explain something to me,"_ Masrani's tone, chipper and casual, hinted that he had no idea what was going on – as usual. Her stomach, relieved, fell into her feet and her heart began to slow decently. Covering the mouthpiece, she mouthed 'Masrani,' to Wu.

He scrambled for her, shaking his hand wildly and gesturing to the phone, mouthing, 'Don't tell him!'. Claire nodded her understanding and came back to Masrani, "Yes – Mr. Masrani. This, uh – this isn't a good time. Could I call you bac-"

" _Claire,"_ he interrupted, " _When did you plan on telling me Alan Grant and Ian Malcolm were coming to my island? Or did you forget?_ " His tone was genuine and hinting that he seriously had thought she had planned Grant and Malcolm's intrusion. Her eyes widened and felt as if they would pop out of her head.

"How did you hear -?"

" _It is all over social media, Claire! Twitter, Facebook, Instagram – everything! Hundreds of pictures of Grant and Malcolm, with this curly haired woman and a rugged looking cowboy type. Countless statues' and updates!"_ He sounded excited, and then there was an obtrusive noise that came over the line, making Claire hold the phone away. She thought it sounded like turbines on a plane winding up.

Wu was waiting, anticipating any type of signal from her. She darted a look to him and swallowed.

"Sir, I can explain –"

 _"Explain? Claire, this is magnificent!"_ he exclaimed, " _Do you have any idea what this will do for public relations? Attendence is going to skyrocket – I can just see headlines now! 'Jurassic Park Survivors Brave Jurassic World' – it's going to do wonders!"_ He was giddy and it was grinding severely on her nerves, " _I have a chartered flight to the island tonight – I personally want you to arrange a dinner between us and Grant, Malcolm and the other two. Obviously they are acquainted – and I want to know everything. They are our esteemed guests, Claire – all of them, and I want them to regret waiting to visit_ Jurassic World _. Is that understandable?"_

Claire, dumbfounded, answered robotically. "Yes, Mr. Masrani."

 _"Excellent! I shall see you tonight, Claire. Make sure the reservations are good."_ With that, he was gone. She, ending the call, looked down to the phone and squeezed it in her hands, then dared a look at Wu.

"He's coming - to have dinner with Grant and Malcolm," her voice was hollow and disappointed. Wu facepalmed himself and grimaced. She sighed and closed her eyes, "and he wants Owen and Marianne to join them."

Wu spun around furiously as if hell had come up out of the ground, "What?"

"He wants to have dinner," her voice was dangerously calm, "with all of them.'

Wu rolled his eyes and threw his hands into the air. "Fantastic." He mumbled, then swore an obscenity. She swallowed thickly and tucked a fallen piece of hair from behind her ear. He rounded the desk and grabbed the phone. He began punching numbers and Claire solemnly approached the door.

Reaching for it, she opened it carefully and slipped out of Henry's office.


	33. Chapter Twenty-Nine

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

Marianne came roaring back with the Jeep shortly after she'd left, stopping abruptly outside of Margaritaville. She horned three times before she saw them leave the building, looking across the way at her Jeep and moving around guests cautiously. The Jeep – a soft top which was removed and doorless, rumbled precisely and perfectly beneath Marianne, who had an arm draped over the wheel. She'd stopped by the truck Owen had brought and collected her things, and had informed the maintenance garage to make sure it got a tune-up and back to Owen at the paddock.

The three men piled into the Jeep – Alan beside Marianne, Ian and Nick reigning in the back seat. Marianne pressed the clutch and moved the stick into first, then crept through the crowds, which scrambled away from the Jeep upon sight. Finally passing through the maintenance gait, she flew through the gears until she picked up a good pace. No one said anything until she passed the first curve, and Nick blurted.

"So your, uh, boyfriend." He sounded a little frazzled, and Marianne shot him a narrowed look through the rearview. She slowed, downshifted, and gripped the wheel tightly. Alan noticed and shifted a look to her hands, which she ignored. She was beyond irritated they were even here – she had no idea what to do with them, but at the same time she was so overcome with the notion that Alan was even here at all. Nick continued, "He works with raptors then?"

Marianne nodded once in confirmation, "Yep. He's their handler – the park calls him a trainer, but those animals really can't be trained – at least, that's my opinion."

Ian leaned forward to her right, the wind catching their statements and hair and blasting them all with the scent of jungle and recent rain. It humid and heavy outside, and Marianne was sweating in her dress, but she didn't rightly care. Her bun was starting to pull loose. "He did say they followed vocal commands, right?"

Marianne nodded, "Well, yes. Their relationship is built on trust, respect, and the fact Owen's been imprinted on them their entire lives," she raised her voice before picking up speed again, the wind picking up through the Jeep, "But, they haven't _learned_. That implies they're giving up their previous knowledge for new information, abandoning a previous course of action," she could feel herself getting technical, and Marianne wished Wu could hear this – or Hoskins, even though she'd never formally met the man before. She shook her head and glanced into the rearivew, "But these raptors haven't done that – they respect Owen because he's something to them, and they listen to him _only_ because he's their alpha. They haven't changed their ways at all. And they won't either." She said it with such finality that it made Ian raise his brows and nod, as if content with her point. But, Alan was the next to ask a question.

"Have you had any interaction with them?" He looked at her as if to warn her to be forthcoming. She wasn't sure if she could be forthcoming with such a question – or trust him to handle to truthful answer appropriately.

Marianne shot him a look, one that was briefly laced with panic, but then replaced with uncertainty and blankness. She forced herself to remain composed as her "interview" with Owen came flashing back into her brain like a television show. She didn't want to alarm Alan or make him any more frustrated than he already was, so she decided to answer vaguely. "Some." She sighed, "Delta, one of the sisters, had surgery yesterday and is still pretty weak. I've been able to touch her and interact with her then,"

"Sick?" Nick's brow frumpled.

"Yeah, sick," she nodded, "She perfed her stomach – which is pretty common in the dinosaurs," as if she really knew – she was only repeating what Dr. Bartlett had regaled to her, "She's okay now, but she'll be recovering for a couple more days."

At this, she looked at Alan. His eyes sparkled to life as if they'd been dead for decades. She found the palaeontologist in them as she briefly looked into his eyes, and for once since he'd arrived the terror and hesitancy left his eyes – he was excited. She smiled at him and turned around the next corner, slowing only a gear, "Owen will let you see her, if you'd like."

Alan said nothing, just looked straight ahead. The conversation dropped, and she could feel the change of atmosphere between the group. What once was hostile and unsure became excited and somewhat collected. They arrived at the paddock ten minutes later, and Marianne parked the Jeep beside her Camaro, which was resting beside the stairs leading up to the office. Exiting the vehicle, she looked up into the office and saw Barry pass by the door, on his cell.

The cleanup crews had left for the day, and she checked her watch. Almost three. The area was pretty cleaned up – the storage shed still demolished, but the debris picked up and properly disposed of. Briggs and Silas were preparing for a feeding,. And Marianne waved Alan, Ian, and Nick to follow her. Coming up to the observation cage, she looped her fingers through the holes of the fencing and asked, "Briggs – Owen around?"

He turned to look over his shoulder, "Yeah. Containment unit, checkin' up on Delta." His accent was thick as he frowned and gestured to the three men behind her. He squared his shoulders and stalked towards them heavily as if he were going to hurt all three of them. "Who's these blokes?"

"They're with me, Briggs," she smiled cheekily at him. She waved them forward, and led them to the containment unit. Stepping through, she peered across the room and inside the cage, where she found Owen flipping through Delta's chart, a look of concentration on his face. His rifle was leaning against the wall, and his vest was off. She smiled at Ian and led them forward, then laced her fingers through the gate and leaned into the door. "Hey."

Owen jerked his head and smiled softly at her. "Hi." He set the chart on the stool and approached the door. Scanning his card, it beeped and allowed them to come in. He held it open and Marianne's eyes levelled on the monitor. It was rhythmic and smooth, and she looked over to Owen. Delta's breathing was slow and peaceful.

"She asleep?" Panic struck her as a thousand different scenarios ran through her mind - all of which were not good. Owen's eyes calmed her, however, as they scanned her own, him coming over to her and taking her hand in his own. He stroked her knuckles with his thumb and then moved away from her, his smell of peppermint and jungle soothing whatever frayed nerves were within her. Marianne felt safe with him, and she felt at peace with him nearby - like everything was going to be okay, even when there was a great possibility it may not be.

He nodded, "Doc gave her some meds."

She nodded, crossing over to him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and she turned to Alan, who was frozen in place and white as a ghost. His eyes were widened and he looked as if he'd been thrust back into 1993 – back into the horror story. Ian too was equally surprised, and Nick was slightly behind them, mouth agape. Marianne and Owen shared a look and she approached Alan, lacing her arm through his. She rubbed his arm slowly. "Alan," she said gently.

"I have dreams every night," he said stoically, "nightmares about these things." He looked down to her and she saw that his eyes were watery, and her entire body parched. She felt her insides quiver and every organ twist and constrict. Her heart stopped briefly as Alan caught her gaze in his own. The excitement she'd saw in the Jeep was evaporated from his soul – all taht was left was the memories replaying over and over, the horror and the fear. She could see each one crashing into him as if he were thrown into a raging ocean. He bristled and looked back to Delta. "And here you are taking care of it as if it's a frickin' turkey."

She smiled, remembering the reference from one of the digs. She'd been a kid when they'd first shot radar into the earth – her Dad's idea. "Things are a lot different," she murmured, her eyes landing on Delta. She watched the monitors, feeling the atmosphere begin to tense again. She wanted nothing more than to escape such a feeling, but she knew she couldn't. "They're –"

"Nothing is different," Alan said calmly, "They're still as dangerous as they were in Hammond's park. And if what you said about InGen is true," he looked over to Owen, "then I don't want you anywhere near any of this." He blinked, and turned on his heel. "Show me what you called me about." His jaw was set and his lips turned down in a frown, and by his tone Marianne knew he was severely mad. She looked back to Delta as he stalked from the cage, Owen quickly swiping his card to open it. Without so much as a look over his shoulder, Alan was gone.

Marianne and Ian shared a look. Nick and Owen watched the palaeontologist leave.

"Well," Ian chimed, "That went surprisingly well."

. . .

They'd locked themselves in the office, all five of them, and Owen had briefed them on everything Hosklns and InGen had been curious about since the opening of the park. Halfway through his lecture he'd just gotten agitated and hostile, spitting venomous remarks and jibes at the man she knew as Vic Hoskins.

Marianne had seated herself on the floor beside the desk, sitting Indian – style with folders and a notepad at hand. Alan and Ian were glancing through the files from the Jeep on her desk, Nick going through a few of his own. Owen was just pacing in front of the door, going on about Hoskins when Marianne looked up at him for a brief moment.

"He comes here and says he wants to learn about the animals, but then he only learns what he wants to know," he scowled now, gesturing at Marianne, "he doesn't understand. He doesn't _care._ The girls, out in the open, are far more dangerous and unreliable than any kind of frickin' computer system. At least they don't eat them when they get hungry." Marianne wondered if he was aware that Alan, Ian and Nick had stopped listening some time ago, and that he only had captured her attention.

She gave him a lopsided smile, "You finished, or should I prepare for the next wave?" He stopped and gathered his breath, then gave her a smile that would've sent her to her knees if she wasn't already seated. She blushed madly then dropped her gaze to look down at the file, "Did Peter mention when he'd have the biopsy results?"

"Probably not until sometime in the next few days," Owen shrugged, "But he didn't say a specific date."

"He's a doctor. That's supposed to shock me?" She asked sarcastically, then looked up and over her shoulder at Alan, "So that means you're stuck here for a few days, until we get the biopsy."

Alan rolled his eyes. "I guess so. Joy."

Ian tapped a file, then stretched his arms over his head. "Well this has been great and fun, but –" he checked his watch, "it's almost four. I'm starving and ready to get some sleep."

Nick seconded the motion by raising a hand, "I'm good with that."

Marianne nodded and closed up the file she'd been studying and grabbed the notebook. She stood, tossed it into the box with the other files and rubbed her neck roughly to loosen up her nerves. The others began gathering their individual files and putting them aside. Owen looked at her, "Sounds good to me. We gotta go find Sophie anyway, and I got to get ready for our dinner." He approached her, "We can do that later if you'd rather have dinner with these guys," He side-looked Alan, who flopped his hat onto his head.

She shook her head and took his hand, "No, Ian's right. They need to get some food and sleep," she smiled at them, "And Sophie's so excited for tonight – I don't want to disappoint her."

From the corner of her eye, Marianne thought she saw Nick bristle from his place. Ian and Alan shared a look, then nodded. Once satisfied it was agreed upon, they left the office and transferred the stuff from the Jeep to the Camaro. She nodded to the SUV and gestured to Alan. "You two can take that and to the resort. The road leads directly there if you don't turn off," she smiled at them, "Considering you don't get adventurous and drive off the beaten path."

Ian rolled his eyes, "Oh sure, like that's even a possibility."

They said their goodbyes and departed with the Jeep. Marianne fell into the passenger's side of the Camaro, allowing Owen the task of driving. Resting her head against the seat back, he started the sport's car with a roar and gave her a look as he shifted into reverse. He broke the silence, "They seem – protective."

She snorted. "Alan is extremely protective. The other two are harmless."

"Besides the ex," he shot off, then cranked the wheel and took off towards her place, "So what happened between you two?" He pointed at the clock, "You have exactly three minutes."

She giggled at him, then rested her elbow on the window ledge and let her head fall into her hand. She puffed out breath and watched the foliage speed by as Owen relentlessly rocketed the Camaro forward. "We were college sweethearts," she sighed, "Young and stupid. We d date sophomore year and the fall semester of junior year, he asked me to marry him on a whim. I said yes," she covered an eye with her hand lazily, "But he called it off by spring when he met his wife, Teresa, and married her after he graduated." She shook her head, "I was so stupid to think he actually loved me."

"What a jagweed," Owen quipped. She burst into laughter. He shot her a look and cracked a smile, trying to contain his laughter – and failing. "I'm serious!" When she couldn't stop laughing, he slugged her shoulder playfully, one arm draped over the wheel. "So what'd you see in him?" She sobered up and shrugged. He gave her a raise of an eyebrow. "I'm serious."

She shook her head and waved him off, puffing out a dramatic breath. "I guess I was just desperate. He didn't care what I looked like and told me he loved me," she looked away, "I was smitten and excited that someone had finally found me desirable. Blinded I guess." She closed her eyes and sighed, "Blinded and stupid."

There was silence between them as he slowed the car and her bungalow came into view. Untouched and serene with the backdrop of the jungle, it was inviting but also extremely daunting. She'd wondered if Claire had sent someone already to got through it and get rid of all of her stuff, but pushed the idea aside and dismissed it – Claire was too busy dealing with her messes and her job to do that so soon. The car stopped, and she reached for the handle, looking over at him. "Give me a few minutes –"

He silenced her when he reached up to cup her cheek with his hand, letting his rough and calloused thumb smooth over her cheek gently. He locked eyes with her, and she let her head fall onto the seat rest, staring at him. She reached up and wrapped her hand around his wrist carefully, and he tipped his head slightly to the side like a bewildered puppy. "I'd say he was a pretty lucky guy," he breathed, his warm breath crossing the expanse between them to swirl around her face. She realized the peppermint smell he radiated was gum, and she wanted to beg him to never stop chewing it.

She smiled softly at him, "Well, you're the lucky guy now, aren't you?"

He chuckled, "Yeah, I guess so," he then leaned across the console and touched her chin gently with the other hand, his torso over the gearshift, She fell against the window, pulling him farther across the car, lost in the soft and tender kiss he planted on her lips. Then, he touched their foreheads together and kissed her bottom lip seductively. "You make me crazy, you know that?"

She smiled and giggled, "You were already crazy when I met you so that doesn't count."

He gave a playful crinkled brow to her and tried his best to appear serious, but it didn't work. It came across as silly and interestingly attractive and warmed her belly as he fell back into the driver's seat. "Yeah, well, you make me psycho then." He switched the car to accessory.

"How is that supposed to be a compliment?"

He draped an arm over the back of her seat, then gestured with his other hand towards her bungalow, brows raised as if he'd moved on from the conversation. "I'll wait out here – wear something nice."

She rolled her eyes, "I _was_ wearing something nice," she grabbed at the hem of her cotton sundress, "See?"

He shook his head, waving a hand. "No, no. Something _nice_." He emphasized the words. Winking at her, he leaned across the console again, popped the latch, and shoved the door open as he fell back into the seat. Waving her out of the car he checked his watch. "Hurry up –I still gotta get ready."

She mimicked his words playfully and exited the car, hurrying inside the bungalow. Closing the door, she hurried towards the bedroom, shedding her dress in the hallway. Once inside, she opened the closet and looked inside – she'd brought one dressy-dress to the island, in case something had happened – and she was, at the time, certain nothing would – and now she was excited as she pulled it out of the closet. Taking if off the hanger, she dropped to her haunches and plucked the heels from the floor of her closet and smiled at herself in the mirror across the room as she let it fall onto the bed.

. . .

Owen was sure of nothing anymore.

The fact that Alan Grant and Ian Malcolm – two renound scientists of their time – were actually on the island had blown him out of the water, even more than when he'd found out Marianne had worked for Grant.

He hadn't realized Grant would be so hardened and opposed to the idea of _Jurassic World_ as he was, and he certainly had been surprised when Grant had challenged him for Marianne. He'd heard Grant to be a bit of a dark horse and a reserved workaholic, but he hadn't imaged he'd be like beast. Ian Malcolm he had head very little of, but the man seemed approachable, though annoying.

And the other guy – Nick Van Owen. Owen hadn't mentioned it to Marianne less he throw her into a tailspin, but he hadn't liked the way Van Owen had been staring at her as if she were the last woman on earth. Marianne may have no noticed, but the man wore no wedding ring and looked as if he hadn't slept in a year – all signs that told Owen that the man was either divorced or separated, but back to bachelorhood nonetheless. His suspicions had been confirmed when he'd noticed Nick check Marianne out when they'd left the _Center_ , and again when she'd led them into the cage. His belly burned at the thought of seeing him look at her as if she were a piece of meat. That man had already had his chance and blown it.

Needless to say, Owen wasn't all too thrilled with the idea of the three guests being on the island. Grant, he could tell, was going to be a huge pain in the butt; always watching him and asking questions and being negative. Malcolm would just be annoying altogether, and Nick he was sure would be punched by the end of their time together. He could already feel his knuckles begin to burn.

He was outside the Camaro now, sprawled across the hood and staring at the sky, which would soon begin to turn colors as the sun was beginning to dip. He watched the clouds move by lazily and realized he hadn't taken a moment to consider his surroundings and slow down enough to admire them. He'd been so caught up with keeping himself busy that he hadn't just stopped – and that was something he was thankful for Marianne for, letting him slow down. Without her he was sure he'd have been fired right now in light of everything. He closed his eyes and sighed, raking his hands through his hair – instead now she was fired, and it was his fault. He should've said something with Wu, and he shouldn't stopped her from socking Claire. The Owen a week ago wouldn't have cared so much – but _he_ did.

Before he could formulate on the thought, he heard the door click into place, and he rolled his head across the hood to look towards the bungalow. He stopped, his eyes widened and his hands instantly dropped from his hair. He automatically sat up and slipped off the hood of the car, not aware the earth was so abruptly under his feet, and he staggered. His entire body went aflame and his lips burned, his heart palpitating inside his chest as his gaze was cemented on her. He was sure he was coming across as a deprived caveman, but essentially he was – and he didn't care.

She smiled at him from her place at the door, her cheeks red with a blush. She was giggling at his show, and he stuck his hands into his pockets as his eyes swam over her, taking in every inch. His hands began to burn for her skin, to connect them roam every part of her – hence the reason he'd stuck them in his pockets. He stepped towards her carefully, as if she were a dream and he'd wake up any minute. He finally came to her and reached up to rub his mustache and released a breath.

"Wow," he puffed, "You look – just, _wow_." She smiled up at him, her eyes scanning his emotionally. She was still wearing contacts, and he wasn't sure what he was smelling, but it was the greatest smell he'd ever whiffed in his entire life. "You look amazing, Marianne." She grinned at him and he scanned over her again, not sure how he was feeling about that dress.

"I'm glad you like it," she giggled. Instinctively, he untucked his hands from his pockets and stepped to close whatever space was between them, reaching to wrap his arms around her waist – but she side-stepped him and moved towards the car. He spun in his heel, taking in her form from the back – and was pleasantly surprised to find it was a backless dress.

If you could call the short black thing a stress – it floated mid-thigh around her legs, with tank-top style sleeves and a gold buttons at the bust, which she'd left undone and he couldn't get enough of – but, surprisingly, he was more attracted to the fact that her thights actually _touched_ , and were thick and well muscled and smooth, tanned and perfect. It sent an oddly satisfying swirl through his stomach.

The dress was a light fabric, he was guessing rayon, and she'd matched it perfectly with black heels. Behind, it dipped elegantly down her back, and he was surprised she'd piled all of her hair into a mountain of lazily styled curls on her head, fallen tendrils tickling her shoulders and cheeks. He couldn't remember if she was wearing makeup or not, but didn't rightly care when she opened the door of the Camaro and smiled at him.

"Are you coming or not?"

He nodded as if he were a kid in trouble, "Yeah, I'm coming." He hustled to the driver's side, slipped inside, and flicked the car to life with a turnoff a keys. Revving the engine, she clicked her seatbelt delicately, and the corner of his eye caught her dress, which was dangerously high. As if reading his thought, she pulled at the hem, but the dress wouldn't move. Shrugging her shoulders as if she was unaware it was driving him mad, she looked out the window as he dared to give the car gas and hurry towards his own place. Every instinct he'd suppressed and every desire a man had flamed alive within him after so long and he released a quiet breath, both hands on the wheel. When had he started sweating? His belly rolled a warmth through his body and his drive kicked into overtime – god, it had been too _long_. He hadn't expected to feel this way – and certainly not with Marianne.

Which brought him back to this original thought - he wasn't sure of anything anymore.

They arrived at his place a few moments later, and they exited the car. He took the steps two at a time, unsure if it was smart considering the condition of his legs. Holding the door for her, she brushed past him, and he realized her smell was that of rose oil, and it sent a wave of emotion through his body. The screen door slapped closed and she took in the familiar scenery of his place, then moved to the living room. She stood a the bookcase and began scanning the titles. When he didn't move, eyes still cemented on her, she shot him a sideways glance and smiled at him.

"You can stop staring."

He swallowed. "Nope," he shook his head, "I don't think I can."

She smiled, "Well, I'll be here when you get out," she winked, "So you should go and get changed. Sophie's gunna be waiting at the resort." When he still didn't move she giggled and approached him, "I'm not gunna disappear when you're gone."

His eyes found hers and were locked there, a smile spreading onto her lips.

"And, you might as well know – if you don't change, I'm not touching you the rest of the evening. You're dirty and this dress was expensive." She crossed her arms, and that was it – like a whupped puppy, he skittered across the floor and practically bolted for his bedroom. Just the idea of her not laying her hands on him almost sent him into insanity.

Shedding his clothes on the floor, he burst into the bathroom and quickly showered himself off, then bolted for his closet, scrambling over the bed and throwing himself off of it. Landing before the doors, he pulled them open and looked for his best outfit – she was wearing something classy and sexy, and he didn't own a suit, so he went for the next best thing: black slacks and a forest green button down.

He dressed, grabbing the only pair of dress shoes he owned from under the bed, and buttoned his shirt. Considering the state of her dress, he left an extra button undone – the third from the collar, and messed the overly staunched collar anyway. Scambling, he managed cologne and socks, then ran a quick comb through his hair, smoothing it before he too combed down his mustache. He fumbled with the shoes, grabbed his wallet and ID, and hustled from the door, shaking off his nerves and walking into the room cool and collected.

He found Marianne sitting in the chair in the living room, flipping a page to his favourite _Indiana Jones_ instalment. A smile played dangerously on her lips, which he noted were glossed with a light, powder pink that he found massively attractive. She batted mascaraed lashes and he stepped into the living room, hand snaking into his pockets and placing his wallet there. She looked up at him, instantly gave him a once over, and closed the book.

"I didn't think you read _Indiana Jones_ ," she hinted playfully. Walking over to the bookcase, she replaced it where she'd found it and turned to him, crossing her arms at her chest. "And I _certainly_ didn't think you'd clean up that good." The words rolled off her tongue seductively and rocked his core. It was taking all of his self control not to walk over there and tear the dress off her body and take her right now – which was odd.

"I told you I was a mysterious guy," he quipped.

She rolled her eyes, "I guess you did." She, she looked back at him and narrowed her eyes, stepping one foot over the other carefully, snaking towards him as if she were a Bond girl from a _James Bond_ movie. In that dress, he briefly wondered if she was. "I suppose now I can touch you, since you look so nice and clean." She stopped right before him, snaking her arms around his middle and pulling him to close any space that could've been between them. Her eyes scanned his dangerously.

"You can stop staring," he mimicked quietly, a smile playing on his lips. One appeared on hers too, and her eyes flashed like sapphires that were blazing. He wasn't sure if they were even eyes at all, the way they mesmerized them. Owen could've looked into them a thousand times and found something different and new and intriguing. "I won't disappear." His chuckle was throatier than he knew was possible, and he slipped his hands into perfect place around her waist.

She wrinkled her nose, "Shut up." She slapped a peck playfully.

He snorted, and he reached up to play with a curl around her face. He noticed she wore no makeup besides the lip gloss and mascara – no cover up or foundations, no primers or filters. Just her skin on his, and that was delightful. He left his hand move to her cheek, and then let his index finger trace her jawline before he tipped her chin up. "God, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

She said nothing, just stared at him for a long time before her mouth parted, "No one has told me I was beautiful before," she whispered.

This confused him, "Nick?" He questioned, as if his brain was incapable of forming sentences. She shook her head gently, and he was sure she was casting some type of goddess-like spell on him, because he couldn't think clearly. How had some other man with any type of sexual drive not tell this woman she was beautiful? He could think of nothing more beautiful than her. Not one thing came to mind.

"No." She finally answered, though he'd known the answer before she even vocalized it. The thought ruptured his stomach out of his body and put his heart into a vice – this woman had never been told she was beautiful, and he knew that was crucial in any woman's emotions. The thought possessed him like a wild animal had sank its teeth into his chest and torn out of his heart. His lungs burned. He couldn't think right. "But thank you, though." She murmured, reaching up on tip-toes and planting a tender and innocent kiss on his lips. "That means a lot." A gracious smile was on her lips when she pulled away.

Then, she moved out of his embrace and headed towards the door, and stepped through it, slapping the screen door out of her way. His eyes followed her and he let out an exasperated breath, as if he'd been holding it for a thousand years.

Locking up and flicking out the lights, he followed her outside and found she'd already started the Camaro.


	34. Chapter Thirty

**Chapter Thirty**

Grey scuffed his foot against the pavement of the courtyard, watching the people mull about with children, looking exhausted from a day of tourism and adventures that he was envious of. The children were either all smiles or sleeping in their parents' arms, the teenagers starry eyed and excited as they pointed and cheered and enjoyed attractions, all the while the sun beginning to dip below the horizon.

Claire had left them – again – in favor of a meeting, promising to have dinner and get them on some rides or exclusive attractions later in the day, which had failed. Instead they'd spent the day in the _Samsung_ building, going through documentaries and entertaining themselves among the other guests, which had been boring. Zach had been angry and closed off to the world, frustrated at Aunt Claire for yelling at them and blaming them for the fiasco that had happened with Owen, the woman named Marianne, and the sick raptor.

Actually, Grey was beginning to think the entire _trip_ was more of a fiasco than a success. Sicne their arrival almost four weeks ago, they'd spend hardly any time with Aunt Claire at all – she was always "busy" or "running late", or "behind schedule" to spend time with them. Their all-access passes had become boring a week into the trip as they'd done everything there was to do at the park – they'd done the attractions and the rides and the sights, and it had all become a blur.

Even amidst his love of dinosaurs, Grey was beginning to admit that it was getting a little boring. Not the dinosaurs – they were fantastic, but the park itself. Everything was always controlled and on schedule – nothing changed, everything was the same every day: the T-Rex got fed three times daily, the exact same time every day, the Mosasaur show ran the same times and length with the same tricks, the petting zoo had the same dinosaurs which did the same things – ate and cowered away from children. It was like a synchronized clock, running perfectly the same everyday doing the same old, same old.

Grey had been hoping this trip would inspire him and take his mind off of home and his parent's situation – but, if he were honest (and he ususally was) it did little in comparison so what his home-life was. He was missing him Mom and his room, his library and the computer he played games on and researched with. He missed waking up to his mom making breakfast before going to work, seeing his dad on weekends and tossing a football around when they could. He also, admittedly, missed the Zach from home – the Zach who had a girlfriend and at least wasn't mean all the time around their parents.

His evening talks with his mother didn't help either – her voice and her curiosity only pegged him on, forced him to realize she was there and he was here, and how much he hated the distance between them. He'd never spent so much time away from home, and Grey would admit that he hated it. He wanted his bed and his room and his mother, all the familiarities of home that kept him comfortable. He wanted to be appreciated and recognized, to have someone to spend time with him – not to be pushed aside as another appointment or meeting got in the way.

Overall, _Jurassic World_ was doing him no favors in helping him forget the worries of home. The only thing holding up was the promise of the new dinosaur Aunt Claire had been working around, which would unveil sometime next month – which he was excited about. Aunt Claire wouldn't give details, but he hoped it would be enough to encourage him about this place and the promises it held.

because it sure didn't have a lot going for it right now.

"Hey," Zach nudged his elbow into Grey's ribs, forcing him to look up from his feet. Squinting against the setting sun, a screaming child across the way caught his attention only briefly before Zach pointed to his left, towards a paleontology class, which was in session. Grey had attended one his second week on the island and had had a good time doing it – but he hadn't been willing to go back, being the youngest boy in the class. He didn't like the way the instructor had always babied him, and he was sure the instructor hadn't like it when he'd corrected him on how to properly pronounce _Ankylosaurus._ So he'd opted out of the class every time Zach had tried to get him to go back – insisting that it had been boring, while all the while it had been interesting. "Looks like fun, huh?"

Grey shrugged, "I told you I didn't want to go again."

Zach mimicked him and wrinkled his nose, "Yeah, I know." He rolled his eyes and then stopped, leaning against the fencing that was around the digging area, which allowed onlookers to stop and watch the "pupils". Grey stopped, looked up at Zach, and then turned to the class. He looked to Zach again, and found his face had wrinkled and his brow had furrowed.

"What?" Grey asked him.

Zach nodded into the dig site, "She looks a little young to be by herself," He shrugged a shoulder, "Younger than you even." They shared a mutual shrug before Grey turned his attention back to the little girl.

She was in a sundress, with her hair pulled back into a half ponytail, in sandals and the only girl in the class. She was diligently working away from the group, on her knees with a toothbrush and a binder open with a handout – the same handout Grey had received during his class, he was sure. She was reading, finger pointed in the binder, when she turned back to the bone she was examining, a look of determination on her face. She couldn't have been more than six or seven, he doubted. He remembered from his place beside Zach how hard it had been to be himself in the site, digging and looking like an outcast – she looked much the same way, but her face didn't show it.

He responded back to Zach when an idea struck his brain, "Yeah, she does look like she's by herself," he pushed himself off the fence and ran towards the entrance to the site, bypassing a stroller and observing parents. He ducked under the rope, hurried past the instructor which Zach intercepted, and marched straight towards the little girl's observation site.

. . .

Sophie, careful not to smudge dirt onto her sundress carefully and graciously turned the page of her binder with a dusty finger. She was sure she wasn't reading the instructors correctly, but she hadn't rightly cared – all that she cared about was the fact that she had found a talon – fake, of course – and she would be darned if she was going to let a boy get something out of the ground faster than her.

The only girl in her class, she'd instantly been the object of the others' stares and taunting jibes. She hadn't cared, though – this was the first time she'd been able to use her smarts and really use what she'd studied to impress the people around her – and herself.

Well, she was certain she'd not only impressed the entire class, but frustrated the teacher as well. She'd pronounced _Ankylosaurus_ wrong – just, wrong. And Sophie, not being one to let a dinosaur name go mispronounced, had corrected the instructor and had graciously told her the correct pronunciation. The woman had turned red and had quickly dismissed Sophie's statement in favor of starting the next session of the paleontology class. Of course the boys had snickered and had cast her icy glares mean enough to scare spit, but she hadn't cared.

Uncle Owen had taught her to forget what people thought about her and think for yourself. A twinge of something hit her belly – she'd been on the island for four weeks and hadn't seen very much of him. Sadness overcame her as she realized she hadn't spent hardly a few hours with him since she'd arrived – but, she knew he was busy and had decided to make the best of it. He had, after all, made sure she had exclusive access to everything in the park, even if she had to be watched like a baby. Which, she decided, was a sacrifice she could make.

She stopped reading the paragraph and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Excitement played in her belly and replaced all the sadness she had inside of her – she was having dinner with Marianne and her uncle, and she was beyond excited. She'd been right about the two of them! All along!  
Sophie had known right from the minute she'd met Marianne that she'd liked her – she was pretty and smart and very nice, and had something in her eyes that Sophie liked. When Sophie was around her she felt like Marianne cared and made her a part of the conversation and didn't overlook her because she was a kid, and that she went out of her way for her. After all, she'd made sure she'd been safe and dry during the rainstorm and had been taken care of, and she'd helped her on the boat – Marianne had been nothing but kind to Sophie, and she liked that.

She _also_ liked that Marianne got all nervous and blushed around her uncle. It was kind of like a fairy tale that had never been told, the two of them – and Sophie loved it. She knew Marianne wasn't considered the prettiest because she was fatter – excuse her, _heavier_ – but she also knew that Marianne probably wasn't considered a lot of things people would usually approve of. Almost, Sophie told herself, Marianne reminded her of _Wonder Woman_ : strong, pretty, and good; just like her Uncle Owen reminded her of Superman: he was funny, handsome, and always watched out for her.

Overall, she'd known instantly that Marianne Randal, the woman from the boat, was meant for her uncle because they both were funny and had the same sparkle in their eye, and had the same heart – Sophie knew so by the way they talked to her and looked at her. And she'd been right – she'd actually been right! They were perfect for each other because her mom had told her that it would take a one-in-a-million woman to settle Uncle Owen down, and that Marianne wasn't ordinary like other women in the world. Something about her was special, made her prettier than girls on TV. Something made her different, and different was _exactly_ what her uncle needed – at least, she was sure of it.

And, she was certain, her matchmaking had everything to do with their being together – but, she wouldn't admit that to them. Grown ups liked to do things by themselves and didn't like it when kids intervened, Sophie knew that. So, she'd let them tell her and play along like Marianne had asked her too – she'd be all the wiser, however, and be proud of herself secretly, like she was about most things in her life.

She looked up from her dig when a puff of dust rose up from the ground. She frowned and braced herself for a snide, mean comment like she'd received from the other students and crossed her arms. She found a boy, older than she was, standing over her with a pack on his side and curly hair. "What do you want?" She asked rudely.

"I saw you were digging by yourself," he said casually. He got down on his knees beside her and put his hands on his legs, gesturing to the binder. "I've taken this class before and was wondering if you needed some help." He smiled at her and she liked his blue eyes, and his gentle voice.

"I don't need help," she wasn't about to need a boy's help, no matter how cute or nice they were. The only boy she needed help from was Uncle Owen, and that was only because he was her uncle and she loved him. "I can dig this up myself."

He nodded, then looked to the booklet, "But you skipped a page," he scratched his arm, his eyes nervously looking away, "you missed the part about how to –" he reached for the binder, Sophie's eyes cemented on him with a hard look of frustration, when a tall man in a grey suit with a pink button down crouched beside them out of nowhere. He had dark skin, and dark hair and smelled like plums.

"Sophie Forester?" He asked her, sunglasses covering his eyes. He had a heavy accent, which startled her. He removed his sunglasses smoothly, revealing dark eyes, and when he smiled, he had white teeth.

Sophie instantly moved away from him, scooting backward through the dirt to be out from between the two. Her eyes darted over to the boy and then the man, her lips turning down in a frown. Her mother had warned her to stay away from strange men that she didn't know. How did he know who she was?

She decided to reply carefully, "Yeah?"

He smiled, "You're the niece of one Owen Grady, is that right?"

She swallowed, "Yeah," obviously this man knew her, and her eyes pulled away from him to look at a lovely woman with red hair staring across the fence at then, hands primly behind her back. She was wearing a light pink dress, heels, with her short hair pulled into a clip like her own hair was. Her lips were painted pink and she had glittery powder on her face, enough for Sophie to notice across the dig sight. She looked beautiful – almost like an older version on Anna from her mom's favorite film _Frozen._

She looked back to the man, then to the little boy who was staring just as hard as she was at him. Her heart began to beat harder and she was beginning to sweat, the dirt sticking to her palms and the back of her legs. The man however out of place he was in a fancy suit, was casual.

He chuckled, "Well, my name is Simon. I understand you will be joining your Uncle and I for dinner, is that correct?"

She shrugged, "Well, I uh…I guess so." She loosened up after that – obviously this man knew her uncle, and she did recognize the red haired woman from the _Center_ earlier during the storm. Sophie felt somewhat better knowing she was a familiar face – and this boy seemed nice enough, for a boy. "I'm having dinner with my Uncle and my his girlfriend – but he doesn't know that I know that she's his girlfriend." She felt her face get hot as she was rambling.

The man threw his head back and laughed, his eyes sparkling. He nodded and stood, then extended a hand to her and then looked to the younger boy. "Well, allow me to take you with me to dinner, Miss Sophie Forester. I believe you and your brother will be joining us too, nephew of Claire's." He smiled at the boy, "I have made sure you get to keep whatever you were digging today – it will be saved for you at the resort," he nodded to the instructor as he led them towards the fencing's exit, the class staring at them as they left. He held the gate open for Sophie as she past through it. "I am most excited to meet your uncle, Miss Forester."

"My name is Sophie," she said strongly, crossing her arms. As the red haired woman approached them, the man named Simon's brows shot up and he looked to the lady. Sophie looked at her and narrowed her eyes, an older teenage boy trailing behind her slowly.

"Sophie," the woman said softly. Her voice was gentle, but Marianne could see the woman was anything _but_. She had a shifty, uneasy look in her eyes, one that warned Sophie that she wasn't a lady that could relate to children on a comfortable level. Sophie instantly didn't like her, but something about this woman made her sad – and, Sophie realized as she stared the woman in the eye, that she had the same, sad look residing in those green eyes that her own Mom had. "My name is Claire. We met yesterday. Do you remember?"

Sophie nodded, "Mhm. You're my uncle's boss."

She smiled softly, "Yeah, I am. You looking forward to dinner?"

Sophie gave her a small smile, feeling a blush rise on her cheeks as the woman gave her a smile. She instantly missed her mom, who gave her the same type of smile at home. "Yes. Are you eating with us?"

The woman looked up at the man,and nodded, sighing. "Yes. Yes I am."

. . .

The door was knocking.

Or, at least, _someone_ was knocking the door.

Alan dried the rest of the water from the ends of his hair and padded out of the bathroom to find Malcolm flipping through TV channels at the end of the bed in the resort, Van Owen lounged eating from a bag of chips, laying out on the bed, chomping as he watched Ian flip.

They'd been given a joined room – Alan and Malcolm had vouched to share, Nick getting the huge other room to himself. They'd joined together, despite their differences, to watch TV and discuss everything that Marianne and the trainer – _handler_ – Owen had run by them earlier that day. Not that Alan could digest any more information at the moment, having all he could do to keep whatever dinner he had picked at down.

The reality of it was that he was terrified in this place – every piece of it held a horrible memory that he couldn't shake from his mind. Everywhere he looked he could see the horror of Hammond's vision, the failure of science and the devastation of greed in the attempt to play God. It shook his core and made his entire nervous system burn with glazing fires of agony as he remembered lives lost here – Muldoon, Gennaro, Nedry, Arnold – all the people who had invested in this park and had been fooled into believing it may work, but not forgetting their consciences.

Alan had a conscience, and he wasn't dead. He knew he shouldn't be here.

But he was here.

"I'll get the door," he mumbled, snagging the shirt he'd abandoned on the bed by Nick's feet. Throwing it on, he wiped the droplets of water from his hands on his pants and moved towards the door, grabbing the knob and twisting it. Pulling it open with sore and exhausted nerves, he was surprised to find a thin woman, with pale skin and dark hair standing in the doorway. Sunglasses on top of her head, stiletto heels, skin-tight pants and a white shirt and sports coat, she looked like she'd walked out of a magazine much less across the courtyard of Jurassic World.

"Dr. Grant?" She had a British accent, which added to his surprise. The other two didn't even bother paying her attention, glued to the HD flatscreen of the room. Alan nodded and scratched the back of his neck, and she extended a hand, "I'm Zara. I'm Miss Dearing's personal assistant."

"Who?"

She waved her hand, shaking her head as if to dismiss the thought, "Never mind. You're presence is requested at dinner tonight with Miss Dearing and Mr. Simon Masrani," she sounded flat and bored, her tone – as if she'd prefer to be anywhere but here. "Immediately at 5:30. I'm to take you in a car."

His brows shot up, "Simon Masrani? As in –"

She nodded. "Yes."

Alan looked over his shoulder at the two, and then waved at Malcolm, who jerked a look to him as if he'd been snatched from another dimension. Alan jerked his head as if to signal them over. Ian flipped off the TV, Nick moved the chips beside him and swung his legs off the side of the bed, and they hurried over. "You guys want to go to dinner?"

They hadn't eaten yet, so Alan assumed they'd be up for it. Malcolm was the first to ask a question, "Uh, yeah. Who's this?"

"I'll explain later," she stepped aside, "We need to go now. Mr. Masrani prefers his guests to be on time for brandy and drinks before dinner." She ushered them out the door, closed it promptly, and rudely forced them down the hallway as if she were saving their lives. Passing them, she outwalked them to the elevators in those ridiculous shoes, Nick taking her in as if she'd graced their presence from heaven. "Your counterparts are being seated as we speak," she pressed the button, "You're very fortunate. Mr. Masrani doesn't fly to the island for anyone." She took them in and then wrinkled her brow. "If you do not mind my asking – who are you, anyway?"

Alan and Ian and Nick shared a look.

"You heard the woman," Ian replied with a smirk, "Who are you, anyway, Grant?"

. . .

Marianne slipped into the seat across from Owen, crossing her feet at the ankles beneath the table after Owen had informed the waiter his niece should be joining them, and asking him to check and see if she'd arrived yet. The man had swiftly seen to the task, and had informed them that Sophie hadn't been seen at the restaurant, but was coming with a park escort at any moment.

The restaurant, a prim and classy establishment lit dimly by chandelier's was warm and smelled of jungle, cinnamon and chai. It was very sparsely occupied, Marianne reasoning that no one on the island could afford to eat here after ridiculous park prices, all the while wondering how on earth Owen had managed to get them reservations. Their table, a square with three seats, was complete with a linen table cloth, candle, roses floating in glass orbs filled with water, and a place setting beautiful enough to capture in a magazine. Marianne even noticed her china was rimmed in gold, and her silverware looked as if it had been shipped in from the mainland just for her – unused and shined to the maximum.

"How did you manage this place?" She leaned across the table, looking around. She felt exposed, as if the entire world were looking at her through a microscope. Never having been anywhere classier than Olive Garden on a date, she felt like a fish out of water. A smile spread across his lips, which led her to grin, "You're washing dishes tonight, aren't you?"

"I just owe the manager a quick tune up on his bike," he waved it off as if it were nothing, "and maybe my left arm and leg, but you know how it goes." This caused them to grin and snicker at one another, Marianne blushing like mad and hoping the candlelight masked it. It hadn't, she could tell, and she covered her face with her hands and put her elbows up on the table delicately. Owen reached across the table to smack her wrist lightly, "Get your hands away from your face," he chided her softly, "I like it when you blush."

She rolled her eyes, "Only because it makes you feel better."

He shrugged and rolled his eyes as if to confirm her statement, nodding slightly and leaning back in his chair, "Yeah, mostly." She snorted and then slapped her hands over her mouth, looking around – there was hardly anyone around to hear them, the two of them being secluded far enough away from everyone else less cause speculation. Her stomach sank – she hadn't meant to intentionally snort.

He laughed at her and winked, "Yeah, you snorted."

She balled up her napkin, tossed it across the table at him and hissed. "Shut up." Her face exploded again with a mad blush and her stomach fluttered with butterflies as he looked at her with a grin and eyes sparkling as if they'd caught fire. The way he was making her feel was unbelievable – she was warm all over and her knees quaked even though she was sitting, and her insides felt as if they were being melted alive.

He pointed at her, waving his hand as if he were trying to pinpoint something, "You know that blushing thing we talked about? Yeah, you're doing it again."

"You're unbelievable," she giggled. She hadn't had this much fun in years. Then, she put her hands against the table and leaned towards him, "You know, I don't remember having so much fun on a date before," she gestured between them, then leaned back into her chair, imitating his actions, "But you know, I guess that happens when you're with someone as awesome as me."

He rolled his eyes, winking at her. "You know, if you're not careful, people are going to think we're spending too much time together if you keep that up."

Heat dashed through her body again and she looked away, to where the bartender was watching them with an approving smile, as if they needed her permission to be together at dinner. Marianne shrugged a shoulder.

"Well, maybe you should –"

"There he is! Uncle Owen!"

The abrupt intrusion came loud and sudden over the air in the calm and collected room. Everyone ceased what they were doing and looked over their shoulders at the little female voice, the little girl in the sundress now running and weaving in between tables towards them. Marianne watched and dropped her chin into her hands, watching the interaction as Owen left his chair and took a knee to receive the girl in the establishment – everyone watching as if it were groundbreaking news. Marianne felt herself blush again, and she felt someone behind her – the waiter, with their drink order.

She looked up over her shoulder to thank the man, but found instead, surprisingly, that it was Alan. Her brows shot up and then dropped into a furrow, whipping her attention back to Owen, who was now shaking hands with an Indian man in a grey and pink suit. Confusion began to swirl around her brain and cloud her senses – but everything became clear when she saw Claire sneak up beside the dark-skinned man. Something pitted in Marianne's stomach like a viper nestling into a dark, dank hole.

"What's going on here?" She asked no one in particular. The Indian man looked from Owen, who was holding Sophie's hand, to her and approached her, hand outstretched. Marianne got up from the table, her face set like a stone in a furrow and frown. Out of courtesy she shook his hand.

"Miss Randal, I presume?" He had an accent that was oddly familiar, and Marianne could've sworn she'd seen his face somewhere. She couldn't place him, though, and gave him a cautious side-look.

"Yes?" she felt the entire group of people – Claire, her nephews, Owen and Sophie, Alan and Nick and Ian all watching her as if she were something on show. Something twisted a sour knot in her chest and she suddenly felt like something was very, very wrong here; like she'd been put into a corner and was being observed like a wild beast that would attack at any moment.

And then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Henry Wu straighten his tie, approach her table – _her_ table, which was reserved for her and _her_ boyfriend, on _her_ first date with Owen Grady. Then, as Wu slipped into their group like the snake he was, giving her a pitted and sharp stare like a viper, Marianne knew. She knew what was going on here.

She was being put into a game that she didn't want to play.

And she was dragging Owen and Alan right into it.


	35. Chapter Thirty-One

**Author's Note:** Alright, so; now that I have actual access to my fanfiction account, I can post an update. I know you've been waiting awhile, but fanfiction had some technical issues I guess and took down their server for awhile to resolve them, so it's been a mad-dash to find out how to check updates and story stats (at least on my end). Thank goodness they're resolved now!

So, a few housekeeping things here: college has started! Yay! This girl is officially a senior (2016 or bust!) and my load is very, very, heavy. So, as such, updates will be sporadic and very, very slow. I'll do them when I can afford to sacrifice precious time from homework. Don't fret - I have every intention of continuing where I leave off, just at a much slower, educated pace!

You all are so fantastic - 561 reviews at the time of posting this, and well over 1,000+ likes and favorites. I'm entire honored. This entire time I've been worried the story was unrealistic and quick, but I guess it's okay since you all say so. I hope you continue to enjoy this, and just know I love your feedback and your PM's - I truly know I have accomplished my goal based off of the conversations I've had with a select few of you. You're all magnificent, and I hope you know that God cherishes every single one of you in a way that's far too deep for many of you to understand.

Let's continue!

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-One**

It took Marianne a few moments to process what was actually going on – and even in those few moments, she felt as if time itself had dropped into a blackhole and robbed whatever reason she and left within herself. It felt like everyone was staring at her, staring and waiting for her to react as if she were a time-bomb without a counter. She felt herself began to panic inside herself, her brain sending off warning messages to her nerves as if she were going to hit the wall of the restaurant going fifty miles an hour rather than engage the group of people.

Which was a problem in and of itself. Marianne knew she wasn't anything important to anyone in the science world – to anyone that would care to listen to a research assistant, to anyone that would take her opinions of _Jurassic World_ to heart. She was Alan Grant's field assistant, and his editor, and his mentee – not anyone that would shake the foundations or threaten a billion dollar company, a company that had its genes rooted in John Hammond's dream of grandeur. She wasn't exactly sure _how_ or _why_ Wu felt so intimidated by her, as essentially she was a nobody in his world. She reasoned that her testimony as an employee may have held some water, but she quickly submerged that idea.

But, for some reason or another Wu _was_ intimidated by her, and he was putting her into a corner and going to try and get her to eat her words – or put her foot in her mouth, whichever came first. And, being headstrong as she was, she wasn't about to eat crow in front of him, or Claire, or even this man she'd shaken hands with.

The man waited for her, and though it felt like it had been a thousand years to Marianne, it couldn't have been more than about a minute. She blinked to collected herself, pulled her gaze away from Wu and Claire – who were staring at her like contemplating and calculating serpents. Swallowing not only her pride but also her caution, she wrinkled her brow only slightly. Mustering up her best professionally unaware tone, she replied, "Forgive me, but –" she darted a look to Owen, " – have we met before?"

The Indian man – complete with dark skin and lustfully bright eyes, smiled at her and chuckled. His perfectly and tastefully pressed suit matched his persona and his aura, and he stepped back to look over his shoulder at Claire, who was smiling weakly and chuckling nervously. "Ah, yes, I don't believe I have had the pleasure of meeting you in person, Miss Randal –" he spoke to her, but reached a hand out to Alan, who quickly shook hands, caught off guard and somewhat startled. " – but I have no doubt that it will be a pleasure indeed," he winked at her, cheerfully, "And may I say the honour is delightfully mine to make your acquaintance as well, Dr. Grant! Welcome, welcome!" he clapped his hands together after releasing Alan's hand, and gestured around to the onlookers of what Marianne was beginning to realize was their dinner party. Masrani stepped away, towards the bar and excused himself, leaning over the tastefully polished and styled bar to the tender and whispered instructions.

They, as a group, stood in awkward silence before Nick piped up somewhere to her left, which only added to her distress. "Could anyone please explain to me what in the world is going on here?"

Marianne, as well as everyone else, ignored his comment and she stepped briskly towards Owen, who was staring just as confounded as she was at the man now at the bar. Claire and Wu stood like stones, just watching, not saying anything yet – but certainly saying everything with their eyes. Marianne gestured to the man and stepped in front of Owen, giving Sophie a weak smile and wave hello. "Am I supposed to know who that is?" She whispered huskily to him, her brows raised a few inches. He sighed and puffed out an overly-dramatic breath.

He leaned in to clear the space between them and his breath tickled her ear, "Simon Masrani? You know, Masrani Global Corporation –"

Her chest exploded before he could even finish the statement, and she reached a hand and placed it on his peck, partly to stabilize herself, but mostly to make sure her heart hadn't exploded onto his shirt. The world began to spin only slightly as a thousand different thoughts rushed into her head at once, strong enough to confuse even the brightest intellect – Simon Masrani? Here? Why? How? When? And on whose behalf? Her throat constricted and parched all at once and a pounding throb erupted in her right temple – for a moment she wondered if she'd be sick, but then the wave of nausea passed. The man, Simon Masrani, turned from the bar and made his way back over to them.

Almost as if he could read her mind, Owen grabbed her arm quickly, "You okay?" He asked her. Suddenly, she _didn't_ feel okay as everything within her head began to spin and her resolve began to break. She didn't want to be here, and as a group of restaurant employees began putting tables together, Marianne realized she didn't want to even eat here with these vipers – these people who were out to get her, to mock her. These people who had _fired_ her because she dared to act, dared to think, and dared to challenge the science of a man's dream that was implausible and faulty.

She shook her head, Wu and Claire stepping back as the employee's began putting tables together. Alan, Ian and Nick were silent as stones, ever present within this group of people but not saying a word. As chairs slid into place, Marianne looked to Owen, "I want to leave. Right now."

His brow frumpled and he rubbed his jaw, "I know, but," he grabbed her arm and gently pulled her and Sophie away from the group to have a private conversation. He moved in close to fill the void between them and turned his back to the group, then smoothly moved a hand into his pocket. "It's Simon _Masrani_ , Annie," he used her nickname now, "We can't just leave."

"I don't care if the frickin' president of the United States," she hissed at him, "You know as well as I do that he's here to talk to Alan for a publicity stunt, and that Claire and Wu are going to try and put us in a corner." She was frowning now, and hadn't realized the severity in her own voice, "They're going to exploit us, Owen. And I really don't feel like being exploited on our first date."

The corner of his mouth upturned in a small smile, and then Sophie suddenly piped up, Marianne forgetting she'd been there throughout the entire ordeal. "Is this your _first_ date?" Marianne wasn't sure if it was genuine surprise filling the girl's tone or if she was just playing along with the charade as Marianne had asked her to, but both her and Owen looked down to the little girl. When Owen shot her a look, she fluttered her eyes closed and exhaled, realizing her slip.

"Sophie, honey," Owen looked to her and slipped his other hand into the empty pocket, "It's a long story."

Sophie smiled up at them, looking between them until her eyes focused on Owen. "So are you two _together_ now?" She made quotes with her fingers, and Marianne shook her head slightly at the eight-year-old, a small smile on her lips – where did kids learn this stuff?

Marianne and Owen shared a tentative look before Owen nodded slowly, not taking his eyes off of her – which, in turn, jetted a hold into her belly where her stomach fell to her feet. She again felt a blush creep up her neck when he smiled at her – a smile so genuine and sexy that she wasn't sure how to handle the heat rushing through her veins. He made her feel as if she were on top of the world, and Marianne doubted he knew it. He replied slowly, his tone that bourbony smooth that calmed every nerve within her body. "Yeah, Soph – that's about right."

 _Thank you God for this man,_ she silently prayed, realizing it was the first prayer she'd uttered in the last few days. Instantly she felt better, more relieved that she wasn't in this alone.

"Miss Randal, Mr. Grady – is it?" Masrani's voice echoed loudly over the soft tone of the restaurant's dinner music, ricocheting off the walls and rushing into Marianne's senses. She prickled with alarm, "We are ready to be seated! Come, come!" He waved them over exuberantly, his eyes filling with sparkling excitement and curiosity.

Marianne and Owen shared a tentative, cautious look, standing for a few seconds, before Owen jerked his head for her to go first. Marianne nodded, released a slow breath to calm her nerves, and Sophie snaked up to wrap her hand in Marianne's. Her hands were smooth, warm, and gentle in her own, and Marianne shared a small smile with the little girl – who gave an overly dramatic wink to her. Owen followed her slowly behind, one hand gently on the small of her back, as if encouraging her to put one foot in front of the other. Marianne's eyes darted around the dimly lit establishment, watching as people looked away and curiosity pointed, hushedly whispered and drew conclusions. She felt as if she were exposed on a microscope for everyone to look at, again.

 _Oh God,_ she prayed genuinely, eyes fluttering closed, _Help me do this. Give me wisdom like a serpent, but please, please,_ please _let me be gentle like a dove._ Marianne opened her eyes and looked towards heaven, as if to affirm her statement to herself.

They came to the table, Alan standing to receive her by pushing out her chair for her. Owen came up beside him as she slipped into it, doing the same for Sophie, and Marianen checked her shoulder only to find Alan seating himself and Owen assuming the responsibility – Alan's gaze ever narrowed on the raptor handler. The underlying tension between the two of them was almost as suffocating as the present.

. . .

They ordered drinks – tequila's, brandy's, chardonnay, chocolate milk, and finally lemon waters. As the staff came and went, the conversation maintained a friendly playing field – Simon had deliberately seated himself across from Alan, and they talked about his research and his progress in Montana.

Claire and Wu never said a word to one another across the table – Claire was seated directly beside Owen to his right, Sophie to his left, Wu directly across from Claire, seated next to Nick. Marianne sat beside Sophie, who was on her right, and Alan, who was at her left. Ian was directly across from her, sending her subtle non-verbals by raising her brows and mouthing statements which made Marianne chuckle. Him keeping her mind engaged and at ease helped her decide that she liked him as a human being despite Alan's testimonials on the infamous Ian Malcolm.

It was only until Marianne's crunchy chicken salad was slid in front of her that the conversation got serious – and dangerous. As the wait staff moved away, the atmosphere of the table shifted, and Simon grabbed for her fork and knife, slicing into a juicy beef steak. Sophie had ordered a petite steak herself, and Marianne reached for the girl's utensils to begin slicing it for her. Only when her attention was engaged on slicing the steak did the conversation point to her.

"So, Miss Randal," Marianne dared a look to Masrani, who plucked a piece of steak off his fork whiskfully. He sashayed his hand through the air, gesturing, "Claire informs me you are relatively new to our staff here."

Marianne finished Sophie's steak, then shifted her eyes to Claire, who was spooning a forkful of salad into her mouth delicately, having stopped mid-sentence. Marianne then set down the utensil's she'd used and reached for the napkin beside her plate, unwrapping her own utensils, noting the shine and gold-trim of her salad plate. She felt Owen's hot stare on her, so she replied, "That's right. I've been here about four weeks," she wrinkled her nose to indicate her loose approximation.

He nodded, "Ah yes, very good," Masrani began slicing off another piece of steak, "And you are working closely with Mr. Grady in paddock six, is that correct?" The question was actually directed to Owen, as he was the person Simon had levelled his gaze on.

"That's correct," Owen interjected, setting his hands on the table, still holding onto his napkin. He'd ordered barbeque ribs that looked delicious and were sautéed with pineapples, green peppers, and a spicy-smelling barbeque sauce.

"And you are the raptor specialist?"

Marianne and Owen shared a look and a light red dusted Owen's nose – a blush, which was surprising. Marianne had never seen him blush, but felt oddly attracted by it. She forked together a patch of salad and took a bite as he responded, "Well, I think specialist is talking up the position quite a bit – but yeah, I know the girls pretty good."

Marianne watched Simon nod silently, and then noticed a forkful of potatoes make its way to Sophie's lap. Marianne smiled at the little girl, who blushed madly, and waited for conversation to strike up again. It did. "Miss Randal,"

She decided Masrani was nice enough to refer to her as Marianne, "Marianne," she interjected quickly, reaching for her glass of water which was sitting beside an untouched shot of tequila. He nodded and she smiled weakly as she took a drink, noticing through the glass that Wu was staring at her with a horrible glare as he navigated his salmon with a fork and knife skillfully.

"Ah, yes, of course," Simon continued, "Marianne. I have been wondering – Claire has mentioned that you have worked very closely with Dr. Alan Grant here," he gestured to Grant, who was busy dousing his potatoes in gravy and mixing in green beans, "Tell me. How did that come to happen?"

Marianne and Alan exchanged glances, and then he nodded, setting down his fork. "Well, I knew Marianne's father from my days in the army – we were together in Georgia, and we served a term in Germany together, so we got pretty close. When we got out, we went to the same college, and it just kind of developed after that," He shrugged.

Simon pointed to her with his fork, "So you knew Dr. Grant then as a child?"

She nodded, "Yeah. He was sort of like an uncle." She took another bite of salad and watched as Malcolm nodded in affirmation from across the table, Nick eyeing her as if she had sprouted another limb – which made her uncomfortable, considering he'd heard all of this before. Claire and Wu watched like silent stones.

"I see," Masrani dipped his fork into the pile of peas on his plate, "So, recognizing that you both are prestigious in your own rights, let me say first that I am honoured for you to be at my park, Dr. Grant – and for your services, Miss Randal," he looked down the table to Claire, "For I am sure you are doing great things in assisting Mr. Grady in his research."

Her brows rose, "Well, I –" She realized she had interrupted Claire's interjected as well. Both of them silenced and stared at one another for half a second before Masrani continued.

"Because," he continued as if they'd never interrupted him, "the vision I have at this place is for us to assist mankind in realizing that we truly are small beings," he put his elbows up on the table and began gesturing with his hands, "and by researching these animals and understanding who they are rather than what they are, we accomplish that by noticing our own shortcomings as a species, and as people in general. Is it not fascinating to know that these animals have adjusted to their habitats after having been extinct for all these years? And is it not even more fascinating to know that we have the privilege of assisting them in that acclimation?"

Marianne and Alan shared a look.

"We all have a place," Simon inserted, "and for us, we must realize that our place is smaller than we once realized. John Hammond's dream of wooing the world back into a renaissance of love for these animals is minute in what I am trying to accomplish – unity, and humility, are truly what are at the heart of _Jurassic World_ , and at the heart of this company," he pointed a finger at Marianne, "And that I am sure comes across in research. And to know that you all," he pointed to Malcolm, Marianne, and then finally Marianne, "have come together despite past misfortune tells me that there is far more to _Jurassic World_ than entertainment and a good time – or money." He sat back in his chair and grinned, "Because in the end, we are all just people here."

The statement had struck the entire table silent. Marianne and Ian shared a look, before Marianne dared a look across the table, where she found Wu tightly sitting with a taut lip, Claire with her mouth partially open, wine glass at hand. Nick chewed slowly, eyeing the group as he took in the sentences, and Owen sat back in his chair and smiled at her, his eye dancing with accomplishment and surprise. Sophie was busy slicing into her steak still, and Alan was frozen in his chair, eyes locked on the man in the grey and pink suit. Marianne was sure she was dreaming, as she couldn't believe her ears.

Before she could even think, Ian spoke, "So, are you suggesting that your park doesn't exist to simply blow people out of the water?" He sat back, situated himself to face Masrani, and gestured with his hand, "Because that seems to be the trend with you rich and famous – spare no expense is making sure people are wowed and entertained all day,"

Simon shook his head, "While these features are parts of the park we'd like to accomplish, it's not the primary goal –"

" – I don't mean to put a wet blanket on your Kodak moment," Alan interjected smoothly, situating himself in his chair. He put his elbows up on the table and interlaced his fingers, tapping them against his cheek before he managed to continue, now having the attention of the entire table, " – but I don't think you're understanding how very _wrong_ your entire comprehensive understanding is."

"I beg your pardon?" Masrani's brow lifted over on eye, and he shared a look with Claire, who was now a mad shade of pink in her face that matched her dress. Wu looked stiff – like a bomb about to go off but doing everything in his power to remain calm. Marianne set her fork on her plate carefully and reached for her water again, when she felt a nudge under the table. Looking to Owen, who didn't seem aware, she found Malcolm wiggling his brows at her and smiling coolly.

"Hammond failed to see twenty years ago that dinosaurs and genetics are not something to play with," Alan began harshly, his tone cool and collected, but his eyes daring and dark. "He forewent all the cautions of science and warnings of conscience and went ahead and made what he wanted to make, which just so happened to be some the biggest, dangerous, and most unpredictable things on the planet. He took his money and merged it with power and science and came out with an equation that God had once intended to complete, but decided against very, very quickly," he looked around and then gestured to the people, "People and dinosaurs are separated by years of extinction for a reason, Mr. Masrani. It's not because of some random act of extinction, as some people would suggest," he looked to Marianne, "and I'm personally starting to believe it was planned intentionally – we, in our own misguided sense of control and superiority, fail to see that we can't control what we don't know, much like I can't control the engine of '69 Pontiac. Why? Because I don't know it," he sat back, "So it's illogical and frankly misguided to assume you can control these dinosaurs you've genetically modified – which in and of itself raises the risky factor astronomically."

Simon blinked at the man, while Wu and Claire fumed.

Ian chuckled and nodded as if Alan were preaching to the choir.

A piece of bread fell out of Nick's hands.

Marianne and Owen shared knowing looks.

"So, instead of learning from a man who made the exact same assumptions as you are, you've taken it to the next level by slapping a label on it and selling it to the public – a false sense of control and security in a place where control and security really don't exist. You went ahead an did what you wanted based on the superiority of your ego and dared to ask what you could do with wealth, without ever even stopping to ask if it was right. And, in doing so, you've made Hammond's mistakes all over again – just with a new label and a new name to place the blame."


	36. Chapter Thirty-Two

**Author's Note: "** _Barring the concrit, I really, really, really like this story. It's refreshing to read a story with excellent sentence structure, and this story has it in spades. You know how to wield a comma, also refreshing, and your characters are well written. Please don't take my concrit poorly, as that is honestly not my intent. I just wanted to let you know about a few errors. This is a very enjoyable story and so far I'm rating it in my top ten. Not like that might mean much to you, seeing as how I'm but one person in a sea of 600 favorites and 1k follows, but it does to me. I'll be following this lovely story. To be honest, you have a very real talent. I could easily see this being a published book. Not too many people can juggle multiple characters, but you're good at it. Keep rocking on!_ **"  
**  
To reply to the aforementioned review, I just want to say: whoever you are, thank you! I appreciate your criticism - it helps me, don't worry! I oftentimes need a reminder that will make me conscious of grammar and punctuation - as I edit and write my own stories, catching that stuff can be tricky when you've read and re-read a hundred times. And, thank you so much! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story among the mistakes. I most humbly accept your criticism and your words of praise. And a published book - pfft! I'm not anywhere near that!

I want to let all of you who have the same mindset know: just because you are one of 600 favorites and 1k follows, you mean the world. I take each and every one of your reviews super seriously and I crave them - as an aspiring author/screenwriter, I live for feedback. I cannot say enough how marvelous you all are - your reviews are so important to me, as they are the lifeblood of a story. Without them I wouldn't be so confident to press on! Just because you are just 1 person among hundreds and among thousands, you are still important and your voice is still necessary.

Here we go - brace yourselves! **  
**

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Two**

It was dead quiet.

Marianne's mouth was slightly agape at Alan's montage of speech, which equally matched the look on Simon's face as well. Everyone had stopped eating, utensils at hand, and were staring at the paleontologist, who didn't seem phased in the least by his statements and platitudes. He'd quieted, dropped his look from Masrani and twirled his fork through his pile of buttery green beans, casual – as if he hadn't disrupted the entire philosophy and theology of the tables company.

Marianne felt her throat constrict as if it were within the grips of a python – she'd never been more uncomfortable in her entire life. Suddenly she felt a stare, hot and icy all at once, pierce through her conscious bubble – and she looked down the table to Wu, who was glaring at her. Claire's face was entirely red now, not even a light shade of pink, and she seemed just as entirely shocked as Marianne felt – her eyes were wide and her mouth slightly agape too. She darted a look to Marianne and wrinkled her brow in a glare. Marianne challenged her with an upturn of her chin and looked back to Alan.

"Well, I –" Simon had finally collected himself and blinked a few times as if to focus himself on the conversation, " I, well – Dr. Grant, I'm not entirely sure what to say." He interlaced his fingers, propped his elbows on the table, and leaned forward slightly towards Alan, giving a side-look that was intended to be cautious, but looked to Marianne like it would be contemplating, "In all of my features and precautions I thought you would at least be open to the idea of _Jurassic World_ 's success and pursuit of science – that you," he wagged a finger at Alan, squinting his eyes, "that you of all people would appreciate the lengths of what my company has accomplished having been drawn from the ashen dream of John Hammond."

Ian jutted in across from Marianne, her brows rising at Masrani's assumptions. "And, and what? Forget what happened twenty years ago?" He slapped the table, jostling the plates and dining ware on table – Claire jumped and squeaked, Sophie lifted her gaze from her plate and stopped mid-bite, and Owen lunged to save his water glass from colliding with the edge of his plate. He gave Marianne a weary look, and she reached under the table across Sophie to squeeze his knee reassuringly – if she could be reassuring at this point. "You can't just, just expose people to that kind of scientific catastrophe and then expect them to be over the PTSD when you've come up with something better." It was his turn to wag his finger at Masrani, "Did you forget that we watched people die, or did that get left out of the corporate history? You really don't believe we could ever come to accept this idea and 'endorse'", he made quotes with his fingers, "this idea all over again – can you?"

Masrani, slightly startled by Malcolm's outburst, shook his head and waved his hand as if to clear the muttled mess, "I am fully aware of the technicalities of _Jurassic Park_ , Dr. Malcolm," he looked to Marianne briefly and then to Alan, who had looked up from his silent staring of his green beans to the corporate god, "Mind you – more than fully aware. But, I will remind you that I have spent the better part of this company's investments and research in security and animal control and scientific breakthrough. I took what John Hammond had left and then recreated it –"

"You glamorized it," Ian interjected, "You slapped a nice label on this place and now you're selling it," he slapped the table again, punctuating his speech for emphasis, "You didn't enhance anything –"

"John Hammond's research –"

"This isn't about John Hammond!" Marianne's hands, which had somehow balled into fists, found the table hard and her chair flew out behind her, toppling over as she stood over the table.

The entire atmosphere went cold. Silence erupted like a nuke, causing all life to extinguish within the restaurant. Everyone was looking at Marianne Randal, the woman shouting and standing and causing a scene among some of the most renown scientists of the age.

Marianne wasn't exactly sure what had come over her, but she was enraged. She'd had enough of these arguments over John Hammond's _Jurassic Park_ and Simon Masrani's _Jurassic World._ She was tired of the numbers, the ignorance, the control, and the precautions. She was tired of this being about what everyone had accomplished and not what they'd failed to understand. She was tired of this façade, when in all honesty she was in a place where the naked truth was on parade.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Randal?" Masrani's tone was shocked, perplexed, and condescending all at once. That, mixed with Wu's glare and Claire's gape was enough to send her deeper into the fury pouring throughout chest and into her stomach.

"Miss Randal –" Claire reached across the table as if a gentle pat of her hand through the air would settle Marianne. It wouldn't, Marianne would make sure of it. She was tired of being polite and gracious and reserved – she was tired of keeping it bottled up inside and feeding the truth on a silver spoon with a sugar coat.

"This is _not_ about John Hammond," she looked at Masrani – "Hammond's park had its show and now that's done and accounted for. This is about you, Mr. Masrani." She pointed a finger at him, "Your mistakes and your ignorance. You can't push this back on Hammond just because you took over his legacy. You can't cover up the mistakes and disaster of _Jurassic Park_ with the successes and accomplishments of _Jurassic World_." She slammed her finger on the table as if pinning her point in place, "The fact of the matter is that what you're doing – what you've already done – is dangerous and reckless and wrong, and you are so entranced with the idea of success and scientific discovery that you've failed to see it. That's the truth, without the sugar coat."

It was Wu's turn to interject now, and he cleared his throat. "What you're failing to realize, Miss Randal, is that our understanding of these animals has far surpassed that of what we knew twenty years ago – and that's the reason we've been successful. We've seen what these animals are capable of and we've adjusted accordingly – just like with any animal in any zoo."

She shook her head and guffawed at him, "Really? Because, if I remember correctly, fences haven't changed all that much in twenty years. And neither has luck," she bent over the table, looking down at her dinner plate, hands braced against the top and her fingers digging into the fine cloth. She sighed, "These animals aren't your pets anymore, Dr. Wu – they aren't in your labs and aren't subject to your spreadsheets. They don't know you created them in a test tube with chemicals and genes and formulas," at this she shot her attention to Masrani for half a second and then looked back at Wu, "They don't know and they don't care. They are packed with instincts now, with gut feelings, and you can't just expect them to be suppressed because you put them behind some plexi-glass and schedule their feedings." She took a step back from the table. "When I first came here I was amazed by what you'd done – what you'd accomplished, I'll admit." She put her hands in the air as if to surrender, "But the longer I stay the more weary I get – with all this genetic hybrid talk floating around the air and all this 'pushing the understanding of nature' ideology, I'm not so much amazed as I am worried."

Alan, unnerved and staring at her with a look of disbelief and confusion, reached out his hand and turned in his chair. "Marianne," he warned her. She shook her head and looked to Owen, who slowly stood up from his chair and looked down at Sophie. Past him, Marianne had forgotten Claire's nephews had occupied the end of the table, and were staring at her – Zach; the older boy, with an open mouth, and Grey, with wide eyes and a startled look.

"This is completely ridiculous," Simon laughed nervously, "Your argument is entirely based off of presuppositions and inferences, Miss Randal!" He chuckled at her, "You do not have one shred of evidence of failure in this park," he shook his head, "Not _one._ I have made sure that this park is as safe as it can possibly be. Miss Dearing has had hundreds of inspections and security upgrades," he gestured to Claire, who looked abashed to be included in the argument, "Progress happens, Miss Randal. That is a fact of business. Success, and misfortune. John Hammond was unfortunate in his endeavor with these animals because the world was not ready for him. But, I can assure you, the world is quite ready for us now," he looked across to Claire and gestured to her with a hand, "To be quite blunt with you, Miss Randal, it would appear to me that you expect _Jurassic World_ to fail because you _want_ it to fail. But, I can assure you – you cannot stand in the way of progress, Miss Randal, otherwise, I'm afraid you will be –"

"Trampled? Dismembered? _Eaten?_ " Ian quipped, snorting. "Because those are all logical possibilities."

She quirked a brow at him , then looked to Masrani. She couldn't believe what she was hearing – it was almost on the point of ludicrously. It was beginning to fall into place around her brain, and she felt her stomach drop. It was worse than she had imagined. She looked to Alan, who dropped his gaze back to his plate, and then to Owen, who was standing and staring at her silently, unmoving. Claire; who had her face in her hands, Wu; who was boiling mad and tight-lipped, the three kids; who were beyond confused and embarrassed, Nick; who had taken to his brandy and bread as if engaged in a film, and Ian – who was smiling at her and nodding, as if egging her on.

She finally could form words decently. "So...you're saying this all rides on _chance_?"

Simon shrugged a shoulder and puffed out a breath, "Chance, and much, much hope, Miss Randal."

With that, Marianne stepped away from the table, her arms dropping to her sides as if they'd turned to heavy sacks of brick. Marianne imagined her stomach was somewhere on the floor, because her heart had lodged itself in the pit of her abdomen, taking its place. Her head began to swim and blood pooled in her ears and clogged her hearing, and she felt as if the entire heat of the universe were poured into her body. Hot stares from everywhere bored into her, and she wondered if a hole had appeared in place of her face. She looked to Owen, who was staring blankly at her with a set jaw and tight lips – and she, for the first time since knowing him, couldn't read what he was thinking.

Simon sighed and then messaged the bridge of his nose. Then, he looked up at Alan, and then to her, ending his gaze with Ian. "It is clear to me that your presence on the island is more distressing than invigorating," he cleared his throat, straightened his tie and then gave her a sympathetic look, "so I will arrange for you to be seen off the island and back to the mainland first thing in the morning, and that you have your belongings with you – though I am sorry it has come to such. I was very, truly hoping you would come to understand my vision, all three of you –" his eyes landed on Marianne, and he pointed a finger at her and narrowed his eyes, taking her in as if he was confused by her presence, "especially you. Because I like your spirit and your passion – it is exactly what I hope will come out of all this." He waved his hand. "But, I'm afraid that fear has deeper roots than reason when it comes to the human psyche."

With that, he pushed himself from the table, and smoothed down the front of his suit. "Good evening, everyone." He dipped his head to them, and extended a hand to Dr. Grant, "It was fantastic to meet each and every one of you." He ended with a handshake to Ian, a dip of his head to Marianne, and then was gone.

There was silence for a few moments before Nick jutted in from his place at the table, mid-sip of brandy, "So…that's the guy who owns the place, isn't it?"

Marianne sighed and covered her face with a hand, the other arm wrapping around her abdomen. She nodded slowly and sighed, whispering without looking up. "Yes, Nick," she sighed heavier, if possible, "…it is."

He snorted, "Then that explains it." He took another drink and grinned at her. Marianne peered through her fingers and he winked at her, and she sighed and groaned as quietly as she could.

"You and your big mouth," was all he said.

. . .

The dinner group said nothing of significance after Masrani had left, Claire and Wu being the next to excuse themselves, along with the company of Zach and Grey. They'd left the restaurant as the other guests around them had watched, whispering and chattering as onlookers did. It wasn't long after that when Ian, Nick, and Alan said their goodnights and departed – Alan giving a reassuring rub to Marianne's shoulder before he did so.

That left Owen, Marianne, and Sophie to disperse at their leisure, and they did, quietly and uneventfully. Marianne couldn't imagine anything more embarrassing or shameful or horrific happening that night, and in hopes of not seeing anything manifest, she kept her mouth shut. Owen escorted her and Sophie back to her car, and they dropped Sophie off at the resort quietly, him taking her inside.

Parked out front with only the rumbling of the Camaro's engine to soothe her, Marianne shamed herself for what she'd done. She'd ruined everything – _literally everything._ She'd ruined all hope of Alan ever working with raptors on the field, getting any research from the biopsy, stopping Hoskins in his psychotic plan to develop the raptors as weapons for the military, all chance of ever having anything substantial come out of field study and assessment. She'd blown it – all because of her big mouth and her opinionated persona.

And then there was Owen – she'd ruined that too. He'd seen this side of her far too early in their relationship – less than twenty four hours! – and in even more voracity than before. He'd already known she was opinionated and stubborn, but defensive and harsh? She sighed and slammed her head back into the head-rest of the Camaro's vinyl seating, closing her eyes and letting out a deep sigh. He'd want nothing to do with her now that he'd seen her blow up like a child – she hadn't expected to have to cross that bridge so early into their friendship.

 _You've ruined everything, you stupid little brat._ She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip, pushing back the rage and the fear and the pain that had taken shelter inside of her. _Why do you have to open your mouth?_

The thought of going back to the mainland genuinely scared the daylights out of her – she'd been here four weeks and had it already felt like four years. Marianne couldn't picture being without Barry and Briggs and Silas, or not seeing Delta, Blue, Charlie and Echo ever again. And Owen – being without him was probably going to kill her. The thought wedged itself in her chest like a hot and searing coal. The thoughts wound a constricting serpent of pain and sorrow around her heart, one that was ebbing the life out of her as the minutes ticked on and on inside the Camaro, waiting for Owen to return. Waiting for the reality to set in.

 _You ruined everything, Marianne_. The words echoed and rolled across her brain like they were broken records reminding her of a song she wanted to forget. _You had to go and ruin everything you had going for you the first time in six years._

Only when the car jostled and the door slammed back into place to her left did Marianne open her eyes and jar out of her pity party. She rolled her head across the seat and found Owen settling into the driver's side, one hand draped over the wheel, the other fumbling with the lights. She watched him, studying all the intricate details of his hands and his arms and then his face, remembering how hot his breath had been on her skin. She couldn't imagine living life without those details. It was impossible to formulate in her brain.

Once'd managed the lights, they drove on in silence back to his bungalow. It seemed like neither one of them were breathing, much less talking, and Marianne chided herself most of the ride back. The tension in the air was unbelievable – utterly suffocating, and she wanted nothing more than to open the window and rewind their lives, back to what it had been just hours before. She watched the darkness fly by them, unbreaking in her window, until he slowed and Marianne realized they were at his place.

He flicked the car off, the lights still on and blazing a path of light across the yard and out to the lake behind his bungalow, casting shimmering waves of light across the sleek surface. The moon was already illuminated in a grand circle of light above them, and the stars were beginning to come into view from behind the clouds of the night sky. The sounds of jungle floated in her open window – far off screeches of monkeys and buzzing of insects and rustling of leaves all played like music for Marianne. She engrained the sounds in her mind, reasoning this place was the only place in the world that could make such beautiful, meaningful music – music that she'd never get to hear again.

They sat, staring out the windshield and across the lakebed into nothing, silent. Their breathing was the only thing reminding Marianne that she was alive and not dreaming – because this felt like a bad dream. A nightmare. She looked down, pulled at the hem of her dress awkwardly – suddenly feeling exposed before she inhaled a breath and looked back out the windshield. She glanced at him in the darkness of the car.

He was like a stone – unreadable and steady, his gaze unmoving from the glass in front of them. Actually, she realized everything about Owen was steady – is schedule, his demeanor, his life – everything besides her. She'd come into his life and in four weeks and had rocked him upside down, and tossed chaos into his life as if she were giving out candy. He probably felt overwhelmed and shocked, like he'd been abducted and taken captive and now was so free. She'd done nothing but damage their relationship since the moment Delta had gotten sick – she'd challenged and fought the system that kept him employed and steady, and she'd bucked the rules and had ironically thrown caution to the wind.

She sunk farther into the Camaro's seat and sighed again, pinching her eyes shut as if to make it all go away, and she balled up her fists and let them rest on her thights, uncovered and exposed and making her feel naked. Maybe Alan had been right – maybe this had all been such a huge mistake. Maybe she was immature and inexperienced and just too naïve for all of this – maybe it was far more dangerous than she realized. Alan's words of warning came running back to her and seized her gut in remembrance. This was all such a bad idea, no matter how much she wanted Owen or this life or this job. And she wanted it – oh, did she want it.

It was overwhelming, all the thoughts coming to mind, and she blurted, "I'm sorry about everything and what I –" Marianne gestured wildly with her hands and felt the once fantastic bun she'd put her hair into begin to fall down her back.

Without time to think, her breath was stolen from her lungs when he leaned over the console and took her face in his hands and seized her mouth with his own. Like a captivating spell hypnotizing her into obedience, she fell against the door and brushed her fingertips on his hands, gesturing for him not to let go.

Her hands, however, suddenly began to tremble, as did the rest of her body as he moved up into his seat, easing slowly over the console and letting one hand trace gently down her jaw and to her neck, his fingertips moving across her skin and down her arm, until his calloused hand gently traced the skin underneath her thigh, him letting his palm fall perfectly into there. His lips parted her own forcefully, willing her forward, and he dropped the other hand from along her jaw to hold himself up. Marianne turned her body to face him in the seat, one leg up under her, and his hand on her thigh suddenly tightened into a grip and pulled it down, causing her to slink farther in the seat. She obliged his gesture, moving her foot over the console and to the floor on his side. Owen, however, didn't cease kissing her in all their repositioning, and instead held himself up over her.

Marianne was sure her heart was thrumming so hard it would burst out of her chest, but she realized that the intense beating on her chest wasn't just her own heart – it was Owen's, too. Mixed the furious breaths coming from his nose and the rumbling moans rolling from his throat, Marianne's own thoughts were lost in this moments – nothing else mattered. Masrani, Claire, Alan, Wu – none of them mattered compared to this man; this man she was desperately trying to woo and desperately trying to figure out. This man, who had her outside herself and had slipped into her mind and taken her captive. This man, Owen Grady, who had breached her insecurities and conquered them like a king taking new land.

This man – who she was leaving in the morning.

She willed herself to stay in his kiss, to forget the burning tears not falling down her face and the sobs choking the life out of her lungs – she willed herself away from reality to stay here, in this Camaro, with this man she was so infatuated with. Marianne forced from her mind all her insecurities and all her concerns about her own self and her own existence, about her career the future of this place, forcing from her mind the harsh reality of what awaited Owen the four raptors. But, as much as she tried to rid her mind of such negativities – she couldn't.

She was leaving.

A stone of regret ricocheted through her chest and plummeted into her stomach.

She squirmed beneath him uncomfortably, overcome.

He broke apart for an instant, only to take a breath and scour her eyes, as if to make sure she was alright. They were both wet with sweat – his shirt stained on the front and down the back, her skin slick with a sheen coat, the curls around her face plastered. Marianne's chest was blazing with heat, her lungs swimming in fire and feeling as if they were boiling alive. Only pausing enough to check on her, she was thankful he couldn't see her tears. Moving her farther down into the seat, he lowered himself over her before a sob escaped her throat.

"I can't do this," her sob was deep and throaty, and she turned away from him. As if finally releasing all the stored up anguish and anxiety, she let out another cry, and the tremble from her hands spread throughout her entire body.

He pushed himself up on his arms and gave her a surprised – and flummoxed – look. Misunderstanding, he shook his head and moved in again, "You're doing fine," he murmured, his voice throaty and husky and dangerously low. It sent spikes of satisfaction through her gut.

She shook her head and pushed him off of her, sniffling horribly, " _No,_ Owen. I can't do this," she gestured between them, "I can't do this knowing I'm leaving. I…I just can't." Anger overcame her and she sat up, buttoned up the buttons on the front of her dress, and turned in the seat. She grabbed the door handle and was about to shoulder the door open when Owen grabbed her wrist and pulled her back roughly. He had a scowl on his face, from what she could tell in the darkness.

"No." He said forcefully. "I'm not letting you run away again. I'm sick of that crap." He released her wrist and aran his hands through his hair, then looked at her, giving her a side glance.

"It's better this way," she whispered, looking away from him, "It's better if I just go quietly." She rubbed her arm carefully, then glanced up at him sheepishly as if expecting a punishment.

Anger overcame him and he slammed his fist against the dashboard of the car, "Dang it, Marianne!" He turned to face the steering wheel and lowered into his seat, sliding his hands through his hair and letting his elbows drop onto the wheel. He then fell hard against the back seat and beat the wheel again, his foot slamming into the floorboards in rage. She bit her lower lip and sobbed again, putting her hands over her mouth.

She shook her head, "I'm sorry," she murmured, "I'm so, so sorry –"

Quickly Owen turned and grabbed her wrists, practically pulling her across the console and into him. She gasped, falling on top of him, Owen falling against the door roughly and rocking the entire car. He wrapped an arm around her, and rested her head against his chest and played with a curl around his finger, "Stop being sorry for crap that isn't your fault," he chastised her, "God, I swear – one minute you're a Warrior Goddess and the next you're a church mouse." This made her chuckle and sniffle, and a chuckle too rumbled around his chest, mixed with the beating of his heart, "I really honestly have no idea what to do with you."

She didn't say anything, just closed her eyes and focused on his heartbeat, and the rising and falling of his chest – rhythmic and steady, soothing her nerves. She was hot and sweating, as was he, but she didn't care – and for the first time, she didn't think he did either. He was holding her, in her Camaro, on one of the most beautiful islands in the world. He had told her she was beautiful – the first man in her entire life to use the rare, precious word. Emotion flew through her chest and swelled her heart, and she took in his masculine scent again.

He had told her she was beautiful, good enough.

She was good enough for Owen Grady.

She was good enough to get kissed by him -and kissed _hard._

"I don't want to leave," she murmured, her voice sounding childish compared to his deep and seasoned presence, "Please, _please_ don't let me leave." She was referring to staying in his arms, but she might as well have been referring to her departure from the island as well – because she didn't want to leave then either.

He sighed, "I don't want you to leave either," he buried his nose in her hair and inhaled her scent, "Man, I don't," he pushed her off of him to look her in the face, taking a hand to grab her chin lightly, "But I think you kinda have to."

She nodded and took his wrist in her hand and closed her eyes, sniffling, "I know I have to." Another tear slipped out of her eye and she forced a chuckle, "Here I am crying again. It's like a whole new me," a blush rushed up her neck and blossomed on her nose.

He gave her a goofy smile, "You should really get that checked out."

She swatted his hand away playfully, "I blame you. That's checking it out." She swiped at her eyes and moved back to her own seat, "As nice as this was, I'm exhausted. Let's go inside."

Marianne let herself out of the car and was blasted by a night breeze, which instantly cleared the sheen of sweat from her skin and brightened her mood only slightly. She rubbed her eyes and stretched her arms, Owen getting out of the Camaro on the driver's side. Catching a glimpse of the stars over the lake, Owen clicked off the lights and she rounded the car and started towards the bungalow.


	37. Note from the Author

**Author's Note** : Hi all! So, I know it's been forever since I updated – college is a killer this semester! I had no idea it would be this difficult juggling 19 credits, working a job, and commuting an hour. Well, I knew about the job and commuting part, but I've never taken 19 credits – or had a senior year!

I just want to let you all know that I'm not dead and haven't dropped off the face of the planet – I'm just super tied up and super, super busy. I'm hoping to get something done next week (Fall Break) but _do not_ hold me to it. Remember I'm also working on a movie script too, so my writing time is scarce.

Shoot me some PM's - I love talking to everyone! I'd love to answer questions and expend on character's and hear your ideas, because I know you're all brimming with them! I'm brimming with them myself – I have like a hundred sequels running through my head at this moment, so, fear not: Marianne and Owen aren't going anywhere!

You have my deepest thanks for hanging onto this story – It's so important to me! And I'm super angry I had college right when I was getting into the movie! *Tyrannosaur sized roars*

Anyway, watch for updates – I'm still here, I promise!

Live Adventurously,  
Miriam


	38. Chapter Thirty-Three

_Author's Note_ : Hello, everyone! Alright, so I'm back - and I delivered this time! I'm so, so sorry it's been forever, but seriously - life is super busy-crazy-insane right now! I'm struggling to even find time to sleep much less write!

Which brings me to this - I know it isn't much, but, I haven't hinted at Owen's feelings quite yet. Hence this chapter, and I really hope it starts to curb your cravings, as I'm starting to believe are legitimate, given the emails and PM's and reviews! I promise to have something substantial when I have a few moments, which I'm not sure when.

Anyway, I'm sorry again for the brevity here, but I'm doing my best!

Let's continue, shall we?

* * *

 **Chapter Thirty-Three**

After letting down her hair and washing her face, Marianne had went to bed with having said little to nothing to Owen, after he'd volunteered to spend the night on the couch.

It wasn't long after he'd settled onto his couch with a throw blanket that he heard Marianne's soft cries in the night, though muffled as they may have been.

He laced his fingers behind his head and sighed into the darkness, and his stomach soured. His eyes dropped closed and he felt his stomach drop into his feet – something died inside his soul, tightened his chest into a heated ball of hard stone. He thought about dinner and the look on Masrani's face; the look of utter and sheer surprise at Marianne's outburst. Owen considered the idealism Masrani, Wu, and Claire all seemed to share – and it made him want to punch the wall.

In all reality Owen had never paid much attention to the politics of the park – he hadn't really cared. He had a good paying job, a fantastic career, and a plush life; everything he needed to be the "satisfied bachelor". Owen had considered _Ingen's_ politics when it came to Hoskins and the raptors, but never really the park's existence in general. It'd just been another place on the planet, another sink hole for tourists to sap their money into – another ego-trip for scientists.

And now, Marianne had challenged him to think about this place – and his entire worldview changed. What exactly was the goal of this place – like Masrani said, to make us aware of how small we are? Or, was it as Alan and Marianne and Malcolm all suggested – all a big chance? Was this place "safe" in the matter of the word or a matter of conscience and act? Did it exist for humility or for pride? Was it ethical by scientific standards or prideful ones? Was this place a disaster waiting to happen, a repeat of the event twenty-some years previous? Or was it to succeed? Was it even destined at all?

The questions rolled and rolled around his brain like a locomotive going full steam on tracks. Instead of once being the the confidant, cocky bachelor of the island he had been, Owen now felt the part of a theologian and a theorists, a scientific mastermind and a strategist. He rolled onto his stomach and propped his chin up on the arm of the couch, eyes focused on the dark hallway leading to his bedroom.

All thoughts of Masrani and the park and Wu and Claire dissipated like melted snow from his mind – all he could think of was _her._ Her blue eyes that reminded him of sapphire oceans. Her uncontrollably curly hair that was the epitome of wildy, which matched her personality. Her rounded curves in that ridiculously tight black dress. Her strong legs dangerously bare in the Camaro.

Her matted curls and muddy face at the bottom of the hill – the warm cloud of her breathe cascading his face in the chilled, icy rain. Her morals challenging every action he knew best. Her surprised and aggressive look on the rainforest floor, phone at hand, putting a stop to his smooth-talking charm. Her smile that erased any doubts he had in his mind and knocked him to his knees. Her full lips putting away and insecurities he could've possessed, her once imperfect body perfecting his libido.

Her fullness of life beginning to fill him.

Heat suddenly exploded in his belly and spread through his body, as if a capsule had been released within him. His heart began to hammer and his mouth went dry, the lower half of his body beginning to ache. He gritted his teeth, groaned, grabbed at his hair and buried his face into the arm of the couch. Heat burned at the corner of his eyes, threatening tears, and he felt his stomach sour; the remnants of dinner curdling in his belly as the flashbacks of their time together bombarded him like an overwhelming wave of regrets.

 _Oh God,_ he pulled at his hair, sweat trickling down the middle of his back even though the night was cooling in the wee hours of the morning. Owen hadn't been much of a praying man much, but he decided he'd give it a go. It wouldn't hurt anything, he surmised. Not like he had anyone else to talk to. _I don't know that I can do this – I don't know that I can lose her and get over it, which is ridiculous since it's been only four weeks, but – this place won't be the same if_ she _isn't here._ He rolled over onto his back again and stared at the ceiling, draping an arm over his forehead. "What is _wrong_ with me?"

As soon as her hand had grabbed his arm at the bottom of the hill, her eyes so explorative and vulnerable, he'd known he was a goner. It couldn't take it anymore – the curiosity, the challenge, the always wondering what she'd feel like against him, the bickering and flirting and pursuing and… _frustration_.

It began to piece together for him, in the darkness of his living room: he'd been so frustrated by her because he _liked_ her. He liked the challenge the fact she danced around him as if it were game, the fact that she was always competing against him in jest. He liked her spunk and wildness, her untamable personality and unique individuality. He liked that she was different in every sense of the term – her ideals, her morals, her looks, her work, her personality.

He'd liked her from the very beginning, and he'd fooled himself into believing he hadn't.

Now it was coming full circle, and it was overwhelming him. He'd lost control of himself and his job, his entire life. It'd been snatched away from him by a woman in a sundress and sandals standing behind him in a cage of bloodthirsty, unpredictable raptors. It'd been snatched by a woman with a Camaro and who carried a knife, a woman who had a smile that could kill him inside every time and drive him to crave her lips. Yes, it was coming full circle – Owen was falling for Marianne Randal; or, he already had fallen and now was being forced to get up and watch her go.

It might as well have been open-heart surgery, he surmised. She was going to take a piece of him away with her, a piece that he wasn't exactly sure he wanted back. In the Navy distance hadn't meant anything to him – he was still Owen Grady no matter what part of the ocean he was traveling, he still had a Mother and Father and sister; he was still an uncle and still a man. He hadn't changed, only the physical location of his body had changed – he still had the same feelings and emotions. Owen tried to tell himself that it would be no different with her leaving, but it fell on fallow ground in his heart.

He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the couch. He put his hands on his knees and dropped his head into his palms, letting his nails dig into his scalp. He exhaled, staring at his bare feet, feeling sweat drip down his back. The house the was dark, the night quiet outside the bungalow, and he fell against the back of the couch, turning his head to look down the hallway. His heart began to hammer harder, his mouth drying and causing his throat to ache. He couldn't just sit here. And, Owen reasoned that he wouldn't.

He got up, and moved away from the couch. Down the hallway, quietly, his feet padding against the wooden floors. He ignored the pictures and artifacts hanging on the wall, the bathroom light peeking underneath the closed door, as was custom. Finally, he came to the bedroom door and stopped before it, standing a good minute before he finally got the nerve to open the door slowly and quietly.

The room was dark and silent, like the face of the ocean on a still night – so much depth and emotion but so silent. He moved through the doorway, closing the door with a soft click, and turned to face the bed against the wall. His side of the bed was filled with Marianne's frame, beneath the covers, laying on her side. He listened, and reasoned she was asleep by her rhythmic breathing and soft snore. Biting his lower lip, he inhaled a breath and moved towards her side of the bed and squatted beside her sleeping form.

Even in the darkness she was as radiant as a goddess. He reached out and graciously moved a patch of curl from across her face, letting his fingertip tenderly trace her cheek. He moved the curl over her shoulder, then wrapped it around his finger, his eyes falling over her face and down her throat, to her chest which was showing through a wrinkled tank-top retrieved from the bag she'd packed. A desire overcame him and pooled his in gut, but he refused the notion though it quaked in every possible area which mattered. Owen became fully aware of his sexual attraction to her at that moment, and he told himself he could look at her this way for a thousand years and still not have enough.

He stood up, stepped away from the bed and raked his hands through his hair. He turned from her and exhaled sharply, feeling a knot of emptiness and pain tie through his insides. His chest suddenly felt hallow and hot, almost as if it were a cavern pooling slowly with lava ready to explode. Again tears pulled at his eyes and he willed them away, and for the first time he realized he was quaking. He turned back to the bed, shed his t-shirt, and moved to the empty side.

Owen wondered as he stood at the empty side what it would feel like to sleep beside her – if it would be different than all the times before, where'd he slept next to women after getting his goods. It would be different, he told himself – because everything was different with Marianne, deeper and more real. More significant and more _magnificent._ He stared at the bedside for a long time, wondering if he should do it – if it would make this harder than it already was. But then he closed his eyes, remembering what it felt like holding her in his very kitchen and feeling her hands desperately roaming his body, his own discovering the plenteous curves of her, the tender and beautiful imperfections of her skin. He decided if he _didn't_ do this it would be the biggest mistake of his life.

He slowly pulled back the covers and slid into bed expertly, the side that wasn't his own – briefly, he wondered if she'd done the very same thing with other men in her life, and upon the thought, rage and envy consumed him. Something roared within his stomach and he was surprised, but it subsided faster than it appeared. Owen rolled over on his side to face her back, which was turned to him. Sliding closer to her, the warmth of her body permeated heavily to him, and he graciously draped his arm across her hip and pulled her toward him, the other arm sliding up under his head and under her pillow to support them both.

His body came alive then, and he was fully aware of her so close to him; how perfect she fit against him. Owen had considered that she'd feel awkward against his body, her being bigger than any woman he'd ever slept with before. He instantly regretted the thought, as her against him felt so _right,_ so natural, so… _beautiful._ A thought briefly crossed his mind about what she looked like naked, but he closed his eyes when the world began to swim with fanciful pleasure.

 _Easy, Owen_ , he told himself, the fantastic smell of lavender and hairspray filling his senses as he breathed her scent in, _too fast. One step at a time. She said she didn't want that._ And what she wanted mattered, at least to him. As much as he was aware of himself, he didn't matter.

She mattered.

 **. . .**

Marianne had become aware of Owen as soon as he'd stepped into the room. It had flooded with his presence; his masculinity and domineering fortitude. It was as if it were alive and seizing territory it was so strong.

Her heart and hitched in her throat and sent spikes of desire and sorrow piercing through every fiber of her very being when he'd touched her face. His warm breath cascading her face reminded her of nectar, his gentle touch a breeze on a beautiful summer day. It sent a pleasure pooling into her stomach, and she was eminently aware of herself when he'd stepped away.

And then, he'd dared to slip into bed with her. Instantly every part of her screamed in fearful delight. Pictures she'd never dreamt of began forming in her mind, pictures that she found desirable but also terrifying. Then, he'd draped a hand over her hip and the world had collapsed inside her brain – every part of her began breaking down, but strangely he made no movement that would suggest he knew what was going through her. Tears began sliding down her cheeks and staining the pillow, pinning her curls to her face. As she fit against him, she wondered if beautiful had a feeling.

Within mere moments his heavy, rhythmic breathing overtook her senses, and she quietly wept herself to sleep.


	39. Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Four

It was dark when Marianne rolled out of bed, her feet touching the icy wooden floors of the bedroom. The air was cold, the mugginess after the storm lifted in the wee hours of the morning, and Marianne pulled the covers off her legs and all warmth evaporated from her body. She cracked her knuckles, then glanced over her shoulder to where Owen was sleeping soundly like a rock on the other half of the bed – his bare back was to her, and she resisted the burning urge in her fingers to touch him. She stood, took in the presence of the room, and a wave of nausea hit her gut.

Today was the day.

She engrained the vision of him lying in bed half naked in her mind, determined to remember it in fear of forgetting. She swallowed a dry lump in the back of her throat, her face caked with salty tears and her eyes sore from sobbing her way through the night – what little sleep she'd gotten was sapped from her body as if energy for the rest of the world. Turning from him, she rubbed her eyes and wondered about her glasses, which she'd left in the bathroom with her duffle.

Closing the door quietly, she padded into the bathroom and closed the door, flicking on the lights. Showering would wake Owen, so she voted against it and instead rummaged through her bag for some clothes, deodorant, and some perfume. Shedding her clothes, she noticed the bandage on her thigh Owen had situated and found it was stained with blood. Muttering under her breath, she rummaged around the bathroom, finding nothing; until she resolved to look in the mirror above the sink. Opening it carefully, she was surprised.

It was clean and organized – but oddly stocked. In place of a normal toothbrush and toothpaste and other daily customs were bandages, peroxide and a variety of other wound-care necessities. A needle and threat were also there, along with – oddly enough – 3.0 nylon, used to stitch up wounds, and gauze. Her brow furrowed uncharacteristically, reasoning this was some strange form of Navy PTSD, and grabbed the gauze and antiseptic.

She redressed the wound, which was still open and slightly oozy, but not bad enough to be concerned. Discarding the old materials, she dressed in a black v-neck t-shirt, a pair of khaki shorts that went mid-thigh and rubbed the dressing, and a pair of hiking boots. From the front pocket she retrieved a white bandanna, and once piling her hair into a mound of curls with tendrils in every direction, she folded the bandanna into a wrap and tied it around her head, knotting it firmly in place. Her curls spilled over it as if she were Rambo.

Marianne repacked her duffle and slung it over her shoulder, a chill running down her arm. Dropping it in the kitchen, she made her way back to the bedroom to grab her cell phone, and once inside she found Owen's blinking a notification – glancing at him and then the nightstand, she pocketed her own and grabbed his. Two messages –both from Dr. Bartlett:

 _Delta's pulled through the night – she's a trooper, and already strengthening. 4:04AM._

 _Results are back – Marianne was right. 4:36AM._

Frowning, she checked the time – ten to six. She had hardly any time before daylight, and she needed to get her essentials from her bungalow and, she wanted to say goodbye to Barry, Sophie, and the raptors, determined that Masrani and Claire would keep true to their word and get her and Alan off this island before the day was over. The thoughts of a trip with Nick and Ian and Alan made her heart drop at least six stories.

 _Alan._ He had been right! All his research had been right! A giddiness darted into her spirit and briefly replaced all grief and sorrow and tragedy that had nested itself in her gut. A smile crept onto her lips as she replaced the phone, keeping the messages for Owen to read himself. She could still fight this, back in the States, once she had everything Barry had faxed over. She could still fight I _nGen's_ corporate head in San Diego. She could still get them to pull out with Hoskins and make sure her girls were safe from others and others were safe from them.

Marianne stopped as her eyes connected with Owen on the bedside, her hand still hovering over his phone. She hated sneaking around the dark, but she had no alternative: way too much to do before sunrise. It hit her then, in her guts, and spiked up to her heart: _her girls_. She'd never laid claim to ownership of them before – it had only been four weeks.

 _A lot can happen in four weeks_ , she told herself. A lot could – like Owen. Her job. All these secrets and heretics of the company. Everything could happen – everything could crumble and yet still build slowly around her life. Her mouth parched as she let her eyes wander over Owen's body, taking in the intricate details, warmth pooling in her belly. Images conjured up in her mind that she knew any mother would grimace at but she couldn't help it.

Marianne smiled softly in the darkness, hunkered down next to his sleeping form, and rested a hand against his face tenderly, her touch almost an airbrush. His freshly shaven face was already stubbling, and he still smelled terrifically of peppermint and earth. Something twisted in her chest and she let her hand fall.

"I'll see ya later, chief." Her voice was almost dead against the night, and she stood, dipped to kiss his forehead gently, and hustled towards the door soundlessly. She closed it into place, checked the house for anything she may have left, and headed outside. Tossing the bag into the Camaro, she found the keys in the ignition where Owen had left them the night before. Her messenger bag was half open in the backseat, and she reached for it – taking her knife, she situated it around her unwounded thigh and made sure the Beretta was out of sight on her waist. Her hand brushed alongside the picture frame, and she took it out of the bag. A half smile played on her lips before a pang of hurt stabbed through her chest. She undid the frame, took out the picture, and folded it, placing it inside her pocket by her phone.

She climbed into the seat, turned the key forward past accessory, and pressed the brake. She checked behind the car, made sure her pathway was clear, and slipped the Camaro into neutral; scrambling out as it began slightly rolling backwards. Moving to the front of the car, Marianne pushed hard and low, her boots sliding in the mud, and the car moved backwards until she was far enough away fro the bungalow to be safe. Slipping inside, she turned the key over and the muscle car roared to life – without hesitation, she put it in drive, looked to the bungalow one more time, and turned the wheel. Pressing the gas, she roared away from the place, leaving it in her rearview.

She packed for a good hour, all the essentials she'd need with her when she left this afternoon. The rest of her things, she'd assumed, would be shipped to her. Her phone vibrated halfway through loading her car, and she found a text from Alan – asking her if she was okay. She cleared and ignored it, packing the Camaro and doing a once-over before she left the bungalow.

It was quarter to six when she arrived at the paddock. Light was beginning to breach the horizon in a beautiful display of colors and dimness, tickling the tops of the trees with promise. The air was cool still, and Marianne had grabbed a longsleeved flannel from her closet and rolled the sleeves mid-elbow before she'd left. The Jeep she'd driven Alan, Malcolm, and Nick in was gone; as was the truck, so she'd assumed maintenance and the garage had come for them already.

Marianne parked and sat in the quietness. She watched the paddock, still against the morning, wondering how she was going to leave this place behind. In four weeks this had become her home – the next level of her life, the next step. _This_ , oddly enough, had become her career: her work devotion was here and her passion was in that cage. She'd only bonded with the raptors briefly, but they were a part of her – her healthy and hearty respect for them had twisted and transpired into a strange devotion and love for them, as if they were pets.

Popping open the door, she stepped out of the Camaro and rounded the paddock, her feet sliding in the mud. The coolness of the air chilled her legs, but she more paid attention to the heavy smell of rain and jungle, the morning calls of birds and shrieking of monkeys erupting on the air. A breeze tickled the tendrils of hair about her face, and she came to the main entrance gate to the paddock. She stopped, laced her fingers through the caging, and listened. Silence. Pure silence from the inner paddock.

Instantly a barrage of memories came rushing back to her – memories of her first day four weeks ago came to mind: the interview, the fall – the pig. Owen's brash reaction. Her "interview". The fact that she'd never felt a man's muscles before until rolling with him in the dirt – the fact that she'd never been more terrified than staring such animals in the face behind him. Or, the fact that she'd never met someone so crazy.

She brushed aside some curl and turned from the main entrance, stuffing her hands into her pockets until she came to the observation room where Delta was recovering. She found tire tracks, but no vehicles, and assumed that Dr. Bartlett had called it a night and had gone home.

Her card no longer worked for scanning, but she pinned in Owen's number (which she had memorized during her time with him) and it opened. After fumbling around the darkness a few minutes, she managed the lights and the room illuminated, the cage Delta was contained in illuminated by monitors – now silenced. Stuffing her hands into her pockets, she stopped at the cage and found it propped open. She slipped inside, found the wheeling chair empty beside Delta's table, and noticed the animal was awake.

Instantly, Delta's body bristled and she began snorting furiously, rage keeping her alive and alert. Marianne found the chart as she walked by the table, and found that Dr. Bartlett had made good progress notes – a fresh bandage had been applied earlier that morning. Now it was only slightly stained with blood, which was a good sign. Marianne also noticed the narcotics drip had been reduced according to the chart, and she replaced it on the counter. Delta was huffing and squirming on the table, her body racked with tense trembles and vibrations, her breath laced with venomous hisses and screeches.

The panic in the atmosphere broke Marianne – would these girls ever stop being so untrustworthy? Owen had told her they hardly even trusted him most days, and that it was to be expected with wild animals – foxes, he'd said, were still untamed; despite 7 or so generations of domesticity. The wildness in them was still rampant, and it was still rooted deep within their veins and instincts. They were programmed that way, created that way he'd said. Marianne had wondered if that wildness would ever subside and if these animals would be able to trust them.

She seated herself on the chair and wheeled herself towards the table, her heels squeaking on the linoleum floor. Delta went rigid, then thrashed under her restraints, the monitors showing elevated heart rates and beeping in alarm. The blaring red on the bandage told Marianne poor Delta should be incapacitated, but the steady amber eyes focused dead-center on her reminded Marianne that Delta was in this to survive – wounded or not. She was a threat to the wouned animal and she would react in instinctual, defensive manners.

Marianne locked her stare with Delta, stopping just beside the table. It was cold and unforgiving, just like the look in Delta's eye, but Marianne ignored it. She became vulnerable to her in that moment, softening her own stare and gently raising a hand to rest on Delta's head. She panicked, shrieked, and Marianne pulled back only slightly, wincing. The monitor went ballistic, and Marianne reached to switch off the alarm.

Once she had, the room was quiet save for their breathing. The smell of animal, jungle, blood and bleach swirled together in a haze around Marianne's senses, but she didn't mind. She focused her eyes on Delta and held her stare for a long few minutes, unwilling to give in and back down. She blinked, replaced her hand again, and whispered.

"Shh, Delta honey," her tone was endearing and soft, not it's usual raspy pitch. She swallowed thickly, leaning toward the animal, and Delta's mouth parted and she let out a guttural hiss in protest. Marianne didn't falter and lowered her forehead to Delta's snout, which was restrained. "It's just me. Marianne. You remember me."

Her trained amber eye was as focused as it could be, she reasoned. She touched her forehead to Delta's skin and felt its warmth, and breathed in the scent of reptile and jungle, mixed with dead flesh and medicine. Delta bristled rigidly again under her touch, but Marianne just cooed her softly. "It's okay, Delta. I won't hurt you." A tear rolled out of Marianne's cheek and a sob hithed in her throat, but she choked it down. Crying would do nothing but upset Delta and she didn't need that.

They sat there for a long time, probably around ten minutes before Marianne felt the raptor relax. The quietness and dimness of the cage was lulling, and Marianne was tempted to drift to sleep, but knew it would be an impossibility. Delta let out a snort and Marianne raised her head to look at the monitor – it wasn't radically out of control and protesting, just lowering and showing improved heart rates and pulses and oxygen intake. Leveling readings.

Surprised, Marianne looked to Delta and found that the raptor was no longer staring terrified at her – she wasn't even focused anymore; her eyes looking about and only focusing on Marianne when she reached out to touch her again, but it wasn't an alarmed or terrified look, no. It was a normal look, one that she would've given Barry or Owen.

Which surprised Marianne. In four weeks she'd hoped to accomplish something with these raptors, but in reality Owen had told her it was unlikely. It took years to get them on board with humans and to the point of even being in close proximity. The barrier would be present for years, Owen said. Marianne knew they barely trusted him or knew what he was to them in how many years, much less begin to trust her. Marianne had looked forward to those years of bonding and imprinting, but they'd come crashing down in a realistic wave of regret and fact:

She had minutes, not years.

Marianne ran her fingertips along Delta's skin, her eyes wandering over the animal and taking in her form and presence. She'd never touched one of the girls before, and she doubted she'd ever lay hands on another dinosaur again. Her heart picked up the pace and her fingertips began to tingle, her making a mental note to remember this feeling and store it away for another time and another place. She wanted to remember this forever – she wanted to remember Delta and what she felt like and looked like and sounded like and _was._ Another tear sneaked down her cheek behind her glasses and stained the collar of the flannel shirt. Her pocket vibrated. Pulling out her phone, she looked down at the text message window:

 **Alan: Let's talk.**

Her stomach dropped. She didn't want to talk to Alan, or Owen, or anyone. In all reality she wanted to hide under a rock and stay there in the dank darkness, not having to face the world. She didn't want Claire and Wu to escort her off this island - she didn't want to see the shame in everyone's eyes. Her heart rolled over at the thought of spectator's and employee's pointing and whispering - she didn't want to hear Alan's "I told you so's" or Malcolm's jibes of encouragement, or Nick's remarks. She didn't want to go back to Montana and face everyone she'd so confidently said goodbye to and waved away.

She didn't want to go back home. _This_ was her home; with Owen and the raptors and Barry and Sophie. The research and the exhilaration of new life and what the day might bring as it came and went. The awe she felt everytime she looked at one of the animals. The way her stomach fluttered with butterflies around Owen, the way her body went hot when he touched her.

This. This was her home.

Marianne steadily stood, bend cautiously, and planted a kiss on Delta's nose. The animal bristled by her sudden change of movement, but didn't move when Marianne stroked her head tenderly. She turned her face to look into Delta's eyes and focused there a moment before she closed her eyes and sniffled, "Remember me, alright?" She kissed the animal's snout again quickly, "Remember me. Please. Because I'm not going to forget you."

With a sniffle and a pat, Marianne turned from Delta and slowly left the cage and then the observation room. She only stopped in the doorway of the hangar to look back on the cage and bat away tears with her lashes.

And as she left the paddock, Marianne Randal knew she was leaving a part of herself with it.


	40. Chapter Thirty-Five

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

"You're really going to send her away?"

Claire slipped her Ray Ban's down from atop her head to cover her eyes and brushed aside a stray strand of hair from her face as she climbed into the Mercedez. Zach was standing on the other side, arms crossed, looking at her through the open window. She rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses and started the car, checking the rearview to see Grey already buckled in and staring out the window, a cold expression on his face.

"Get in the car, Zachary."

His glare deepened, eyes flashing dark hatred at her. Claire was in no mood to put up with her nephew, not today. She had a pile of paperwork to file and a press release to see to, thanks to Grant's arrival to the island and the events that had transpired at the dinner the night before. Her loathing towards Marianne Randal was deep rooted now – the woman was a thorn in her side about to be plucked. Thank God.

"I can't believe you're going to –"

"In the car, Zachary. Now." She flipped on the A/C without looking at him, revving the engine and watching the RMP's rev on the dial. She looked at him and he relented, scrambling into the car ragefully to make a point. He didn't bother with his belt and she didn't pay attention to it.

Claire instead focused on her jettison out from beneath the hotel's canopy.

. . .

 _ **Riiing! Riiing!**_

Owen jerked out of slumber at the piercing, overly-chipper ringtone he recognized as his phone and fumbled along the nightstand for it. He swiped away the texts, deciding to check them later, and draped over the side of the bed, one hand on the floor to stable himself as he answered it.

"Yeah?" He managed, half unconscious and half awake. He pushed himself over the side of the bed to roll onto his back and messaged his forehead. He noticed the side of the bed was cold and – empty. His eyes popped open.

" _Owen, it's Barry. Have you talked to Doc Bar-"_

Oh no, he told himself. His hand searched the empty bed and he sat straight up, checking all three directions of the room – Marianne wasn't here. Daylight streamed through the windows and he frantically flew out of bed, taking half the covers with him. Half naked he rushed throughout the house.

"Barry, let me call you back,"

" _Owen, no! It's Del-"_

Owen didn't give the man time to finish when he ended the call, and he panicked. She was gone. This could not have been happening – she'd left without him? He hurried back to the room, grabbed a clean shirt and pants, and frantically dressed. His heart was hammering as if someone was beating it with a rod, and his lungs were burning. Every nerve within his body ran tight as panic began to drown his breathing – she was going to leave without saying goodbye, he just knew it. She was too afraid to see him and lose him and she was going to leave.

He found keys to his bike on the table, lunged for them, and grabbed his vest and knife from the chair on the way out the door. He forewent the steps, jumping them and hitting the dirt before taking off for the bike parked beneath the tree. His phone rang in his hand again and he found it was Sophie at the hotel. He answered quickly.

"Soph, honey; I can't talk right now –"

" _She's leaving, Uncle Owen! I saw her car, she's at the Innovation place. You can't let her leave! Uncle Owe-"_

She was the epitome of what his head was screaming, and she'd given him the information he'd wanted. The Innovation Center building was the only place on the island with a helipad, and he assumed Claire and Wu wouldn't have chartered a specific ferry just for her and Grant's people off the island. He started the bike, phone resting in the gap between his cheek and shoulder.

"Sophie –"

" _Don't let her go, Uncle Owen! Please come and get her back!"_

He smiled and revved the bike, kicking up the stand. "Don't worry Sophie – I'm gunna try." He dropped the phone into his hand, hung up the call, and slipped the phone into his back pocket. Slinging on the vest, he draped his knife holster over one of the handlebars and gave the bike a bit too much gas, the back tire spinning on the gravel.

He took off, towards the main square. He was getting Marianne back.

Or, he would die trying.

. . .

Marianne sat herself on the front steps of the Innovation center, her few bags scattered around her and watched her Camaro sitting quietly under the shade just across the courtyard before the building. It was oddly calm this morning, a few people walking here and there to breakfast and attractions and shops setting up for yet another day of business. The sun was beginning to rise fully in the sky, and already the stickiness of the morning clung her clothes to her body, but Marianne didn't care.

She'd ignored the further texts from Alan and had let Dr. Bartlett know how thrilled she was at the news – and that she'd be in touch when she arrived back in the mainland. She had only hoped Ellie had gotten the materials she'd faxed, as she hadn't returned any calls of texts of Marianne's yet. The steps were warm beneath her as she focused on her boots more than the approaching footsteps. She only lifted her head to look when there were more than one pair, and she found Alan, Ian, and Nick coming up.

"Morning, sunshine," Ian offered her a hand to help her stand, and she obliged him. He helped pull her to her feet and clapped a hand on her shoulder. When he wrapped her in a hug, she was surprised, but returned it gently and he squeezed her affectionately. "I'm sorry about this, kiddo. I really am." His whisper was genuine and compassionate and she shrugged as she pulled away.

"It was bound to happen," she replied quietly, turning from him to grab her purse and another bag. Alan had already intercepted her other ones, and she looked away from him. "Let's get moving. Claire's already here." Her voice sounded robotic and dead, but she didn't care as she pulled open the heavy Center doors.

They took the stairs and nodded to the receptionist on the second floor, and intercepted the elevators again. Pressing the arrow pointing up, they stepped onto the car when it dang and leveled, the doors parting. All four of them were silent, Marianne feeling Nick's stare in the back of her skull.

They stepped off at the appropriate floor, nodded to security, and found Wu and Claire and Masrani waiting at the roof access door. Wu was on his cell phone, and he quickly ended the call. She heard him mention the name 'Vic', but she didn't catch anything more than that when he gave her a pathetic small smile and opened the roof access door.

Claire said nothing as she followed them out the door, Marianne's eyes latched onto the shining corporate helicopter awaiting liftoff. Masrani nodded to the pilot, who climbed into the cockpit and began preparing for flight. Claire, Wu, and Masrani formed a line in front of them, Claire folding her hands behind her back.

"I truly am sorry about all of this," Wu announced as the turbines began winding up, their screeching heavy on the wind. The blades began to rotate furiously as the chopper roared to life, "I really had anticipated it would work out."

Marianne sighed, frustrated by his platitudes. She really could find nothing to say to these people, and she didn't need to. She shrugged a shoulder and adjusted the strap on her purse. She extended a professional hand, "We both know that it never could, Dr. Wu." He shook it politely and looked away from her, to Grant. Marianne nodded to Masrani, then to Claire, who had a smirk pulled tightly to her lips.

"Miss Randal."

"Miss Dearing,"

She sounded the least bit phased, "Good luck on the mainland. I'll make sure to provide an appropriate reference." Her tone was icy and cold-hearted, and Marianne could see right through her façade of professionalism. She smirked at Claire and chuckled.

"I don't think that's probably the best career move," she shrugged a shoulder at Claire, "but thanks anyway."

Claire's lips turned into a frown and Marianne noticed her forehead crinkle, even behind her hair and oversized sunglasses. Her posture tightened, "Your belongings ship into New York, and from there you can request them to go anywhere. I'll see to the details personally."

Marianne nodded once, "Alrighty then."

She head Masrani and Alan part ways and headed towards the chopper before anything else could be said, Ian and Nick not far behind. The turbines were at full power now, rotating the blades at speeds unheard of, so they kept low as they handed their luggage to the co-pilot, who put saw to them appropriately. Nick boarded, Ian followed, and Alan clapped a hand on her shoulder from behind and squeezed gently. He gave her an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry," he said gruffly, "I know you wanted this."

She shrugged a shoulder and looked away from him, "All good things come to an end, right?" She chuckled, "You were right after all. Guess you get to say I told you so."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and hugged her tightly, "I don't think I want to."

He gave her a half smile and hoisted himself up into the chopper, Marianne following behind. The co-pilot oversaw their buckles, then gave them a thumbs up and retreated into the cockpit. The wind of the turbines pulled at her hair in every direction, and within moments they lifted off the ground.

Thankfully the noise of the chopper covered the banging of her heart, and the wind her tears.


	41. Chapter Thirty-Six

Owen burst through the roof access' door, the loud _thwack_ of helicopter blades vibrating through his entire body. As soon as he opened the door, he was greeted by the images of Claire Dearing, Simon Masrani, and Henry Wu all watching the sharp image of an official _Jurassic World_ chopper lifting off into the distance.

He was sweating now, and his legs were burning from taking the stairs two at a time. The organ that he understood as his heart was clawing like a wild animal against his chest, and his stomach sank into his feet. Anger and disappointment went to war with his head, and he registered Claire smirking at him. When she caught him watching, she pulled a straight face. Owen looked back at the disappearing chopper, and feeling his throat clamp with emotion, clenched his jaw. Owen turned on his heel, whipped open the door again, and stalked through it.

She was gone. Without so much as a goodbye, she was gone.


	42. Part III: The Fall

**Part III: The Fall**

* * *

"Chaos was the law of nature; order was the dream of man." – Henry B. Adams

"What we imagine is order is merely the prevailing form of chaos." – Kerry Thornley

"You have to learn the rules of the game. And then you have to play better than anyone else."- Albert Einstein

"Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up, it knows it must outrun the fastest lion or it will be killed. Every morning in Africa, a lion wakes up. It knows it must run faster than the slowest gazelle, or it will starve. It doesn't matter whether you're the lion or a gazelle-when the sun comes up, you'd better be running." – Christopher McDougall


	43. Chapter Thirty-Seven

_**Two Weeks Later**_

* * *

"Marianne! Marianne, it's DJ– Dr. Grant is looking for you at the dig site!"

Marianne rolled over on the RV's bed and fumbled along the floor for her purse, where her cell phone was set to vibrate within its folds. Through half-lidded eyes, she managed to find the device and check the time in the corner, before registering a look outside the small window over her shoulder. Daylight pierced through the light curtains and stained her arm in a warm and bright ray.

"Yeah, DJ– I'll be out. Give me fifteen minutes."

With that, the research assistant flitted off and was gone about her other duties, leaving Marianne to the silence of the RV. All wasn't entirely quiet, however, because she could still hear the mulling about outside the thin walls. People were talking, trucks were driving by, and other machinery moved about as the Montana excavation went underway.

She moaned, let the phone slip from her hands back into her purse, and swung her legs over the side of the bed to sit upright. It had been two weeks since her arrival back from _Jurassic World_ , and she still hadn't adjusted to the time difference – or, the climate change. Marianne got up, willed herself to eat breakfast, and dressed quickly.

There had been a lot of things she hadn't adjusted to since her arrival back to the States with Alan, Nick, and Ian, actually. Their journey back had been quiet and cold-shouldered, and still hadn't changed drastically much since she'd fallen back into her everyday routine at the site. Of course she'd gotten her old job back, and while she was grateful for something to do, she couldn't help but miss island life with Owen Grady and the raptors.

It was different, working with bones instead of living creatures. She hadn't really been aware of the differences on the island, but Marianne Randal was aware of them now. The days blurred together as she scribbled notes and typed reports on the dead remains of dinosaurs, rather than tending to the needs and paperwork of the living ones. Desert life was also different too – she missed the luscious jungle and the smell of the ocean in comparison to the dry heat and grainy sands. Her bungalow had been a paradise compared to the corner of the RV she lived in with the other three research assistant's.

What she missed most of all though, was Owen. She hadn't corresponded with his attempts at contact since her arrival. She wasn't sure she could bring herself to hear his voice, so far away on the phone; read his emails half a world away. He was there, living with Echo, Charlie, Delta and Blue, and she was here, working with remains. They were two entirely different worlds away from one another, despite his attempts at talking to her. Marianne ignored his calls, deleted his messages, or archived his emails. Every time she saw his name it almost drove her to tears. She wasn't ready to talk to him, or anyone else, about _Jurassic World._

Instead, she drowned herself in work. When she wasn't in the sand with Alan, she was working on the information she'd faxed Ellie. It really made no sense to her, all the InGen reports and statistics and research, but what did make sense was the man named Hoskins, and his proposal for field tests and military involvement. As she'd read the files and intel deep into the nights, she'd found that he'd proposed that with the bond established between raptors and human beings at the time of their birth, they responded to commands and shared a loyal connection with their imprinted "alpha". The proposal aspect was that because of this development, raptors could replace human beings in the field of combat and recon, and save thousands of lives a year.

Marianne had considered this intel carefully, and had pieced it together in her brain over the two weeks she'd been away. Of course she knew that Owen was aware of Hoskins, as he came periodically to check in on the assets and weigh the information that Owen gave him. What she wasn't sure Owen knew was how this proposition would affect not only the park, but also research. She'd all but abandoned the hope of hearing about Delta's biopsy results, and it didn't really matter either way. Alan's study and theorizing would mean next to nothing if the military got involved.

But, none of it was her problem anymore, and she'd had to remind herself of that as she scoured information. Marianne had debated passing the information on to Owen, but she knew the minute she called him, their conversation would be less about dinosaurs and more about them as a couple. It wouldn't matter anyway, because Wu and Masrani wouldn't hear him regardless of the situation.

She stepped out of the RV in shorts, hiking boots, a white-tank top, and a long sleeved camping shirt with a notebook and pen at hand. Kicking the door closed behind her, she slipped her sunglasses down in front of her eyes and scanned the mulling site for Alan Grant – he wasn't visible, so she assumed he was at one of the southern digs. Hopping on an ATV, she drove her way out to the sites, and found Alan documenting something with another assistant.

She climbed the craggled, desert floor towards them, and once the other assistant registered her presence, Alan set them away with a wave of his hand and an exchange of words that Marianne didn't hear. Once in front of him, he tipped back the brim of his hate and glanced up at her behind sunglasses, registering her with a smirk.

"Good morning," he jibed her with a smarmy greeting, before waving her down to join him in the dirt. "I was wondering if you were going to wake up or sleep the whole day away."

She rolled her eyes behind her shades, and squatted across the skeleton from him. It was only a quarter unearthed, and hardly distinguishable given its present state. He had it marked a number of places with tags, and tools were skittered around the paleontologist in all directions. He was sweating, and his arms were slightly sunburned. She flipped to a new page in her notebook, clicked her pen, and began documentation.

She mumbled, "Still haven't adjusted to the time difference," to which he raised his head to stare at her. Marianne looked across from him and cocked a brow. "What?" She demanded.

He shook his head. "You sure it's not all the reading you've been doing late at night that's keeping you in bed?" He went back to working, brushing off dust around an ankle bone with his hand.

She gaped at him, surprised that he knew she'd been up reading the information from Ellie. Then it pieced together in her brain as if it were a child's puzzle game suddenly solved. "Ellie told you about the information I sent to her."

He whipped his head up to frown at her. "What?" She cursed herself, sighed, and shook her head as she scrawled another note. Apparently he hadn't known _that_ tidbit of information she'd just offered, and she mentally kicked herself for spouting off so flippantly. She paused her writing and hung her head, looking at her dusty boots. Sweat began to form on her brow in the hot sun.

She waved a hand through the air. "It's nothing. Forget it," she sighed, hoping to dismiss the topic altogether.

Suddenly, Alan reached across the skeleton and grabbed her wrist harshly, gripping tightly. The look on his face was less than enthused, and she jerked her arm out of his grasp. He released, but his frown didn't relent. "What information did you give Ellie?"

She sighed, dropped the notebook and pen, and got up. "I'm not discussing this with you," she intoned sharply, turning on her heel to begin making her way back down the trail towards the ATV she'd abandoned. Alan followed her, close behind. She glanced over her shoulder, "I'll have DJ come finish up with you –"

In an instant, he grabbed her arm and whipped her around to face him. Squealing, she stumbled over a rock and he caught her wrist, jerking her to a stop before she could fall. He whipped off his sunglasses to glare at her, and she did the same, gaping at him in disbelief. He stepped towards her, pointing a finger in her face. "Marianne. You'd better tell me what's going on, or I'll –"

"Do what?" She demanded, cocking a brow. "What exactly can you do to me, Alan?"

He narrowed his stare at her and hissed, "Don't test me, Marianne." He then straightened, slipped his sunglasses on, and tacked on, "Now, tell me what was so important that you sent _Jurassic World_ documents to Ellie Sattler while you were employed." He sighed, "Not that I really want to get involved, but something tells me I should."

She shook her head. "I'm not telling you anything," she said warningly, "it's classified information, and the last thing I need is for it to go public."

He pierced her with a growl. "All the more reason why I should know about it." He waved towards the ATV and she turned, "Let's see what you've got, kiddo."

* * *

Owen glanced between the two documents on his desk, and then checked the computer screen. His brow dropped into a furrow as he glanced through file names and data information. When he didn't find what he was looking for, he looked back at the papers again, and threw his hands into the air. The pen he'd been holding pitched across the office to roll across the floor against the wall. Rolling away from the computer, he swiveled in his chair and ran his hands through his hair.

Delta was due back at the paddock today from her recovery, and he was less than prepared. Every since Marianne had took off two weeks previous, his office had been in disarray as he and Barry had scrambled to intercept the duties she'd left behind. Thankfully, Marianne had been smart enough to organize everything, so the hard copies of the animal's files were relatively easy to find in the file cabinet and on the shelves. The rest she'd left on the computer, however, might as well have been a Houdini feature, because it seemed like everything had vanished.

He heard his name out the door, which was propped open, and stood up from the desk chair abruptly. Stalking towards the door, he grabbed the frame and whipped himself through the threshold. The steel walkway rattled beneath him as he moved towards the edge, seeing Barry waving to get his attention.

"Yeah, Barry," he called down to his friend, "what's up?"

"There's someone here to see you, Owen!" he pointed towards the maintenance shed, and thumbed over his shoulder. "Sounds important, my friend!"

Owen nodded, then waved Barry off as he the man began backpedaling to intercept the truck that came rumbling in from the road. He turned to intercept the driver, who slowed, and directed him with a wave of his hand. Owen moved back into the office, quickly locked the computer, and grabbed Delta's medical file under his arm.

He took the stairs two at a time, and crossed to the maintenance shed, noting the excited energy around the paddock in preparation for Delta's return. It would be her first time reunited with her sisters since her injury, and Owen was more than anxious for their reunification. They'd never been apart for this amount of time, and it would interesting to see their response to the absence.

Owen suddenly wished Marianne was here to see the moment unfold. She'd taken nothing but genuine interest in the animals since she'd arrived to the island, and had bonded with them immediately as she'd interacted with them and documented their behaviors. She asked intelligent questions that he guessed came from time and study with Alan Grant. He missed her curiosity and her passion, as well as her spunk. It had been quiet in her absence for two weeks – oddly and painfully quiet.

He hadn't been the only one to miss her, though. He caught the guys around the paddock talking about her when he wasn't around, and they asked him if he'd heard from her regarding his many attempts at contact. Barry had told him, a handful of times, that she'd been color to a black and white area in their research and work, as well as the island. She'd been a drum in the flute section, more or less, and had said everything anyone had ever wanted to say to Henry Wu and Simon Masrani.

Sophie missed her terribly, too. When he'd told his little niece that he'd been unable to stop Marianne from leaving, the little girl had welled up with tears and had almost cried. Now she seemed depressed, even in their time spent together, and never failed to let him know that she missed Marianne and wanted them to be together. "Like something out of a fairy tale, Uncle Owen," she'd insisted strongly as they parked his motorcycle and enjoyed ice cream together, "she's your princess, and you're her prince. She has to come back." As much as he liked the idea, it twisted his gut into a sour knot every time. But, thankfully, she'd taken a friend in Claire's nephews Zach and Grey, and had spent a lot of time with them on the island as well.

As he crossed to the maintenance shed, he wrinkled his brow at the sight. A woman was standing with a bad slung over her shoulder, sunglasses on, with her blonde hair pulled back into a clip. She looked like a tourist, given her khaki shorts and hiking boots, as well as her grey colored button down top covering a white tank. She had something tucked under her arm, and a slight sunburn on her nose as she looked over the supplies in the shed, stepping out of the way as Briggs and another man unloaded gear for the afternoon feeding.

He ducked into the shed, where the door was half-open, and moved to her. She turned when she heard him enter and smiled at him, a kind type of introductory smile that was standard for introductions. Walking to him, she extended a hand to him and nodded, "You must be Owen Grady," she began, "thank you for seeing me."

"That's me," he shook her hand politely, then gestured to her. "You mind me asking who exactly you are? Because, today's a pretty busy day, and I don't have a lot of time for chit-chat." He tried to make it sound as professionally polite as possible, but the fact remained: he wasn't professional, or in a mood to be polite, either. He scanned her over before crossing her arms over his chest, reasoning she had to be in her forties or early fifties, given the slight grey mixed in with her blonde hair.

She chuckled at him and nodded. "You're blunt," she sighed then extended a folder to him, "but, that's fair. My name is Doctor Ellie Sattler. I'm a paleobotanist. Alan Grant is a colleague of mine." She smiled at him and gestured to the file. "I got these from your office a few weeks ago, from Marianne Randal. I'm an acquaintance of hers, and thought you might like to know what some of this information is."

He looked at the file, then to her. "Marianne doesn't work here anymore," he shook his head, "and I don't think I understand what you're proposing, Dr. Sattler." He didn't like the sound of any of this, but he remembered that Marianne had trusted this woman with whatever information she'd been sniffing around regarding the raptor's and research.

She removed her sunglasses, revealing kind eyes that were intelligent and strong. "I know Marianne is back in the States. Alan Grant told me." She slipped the sunglasses on top of her head and dropped the file back under her arm. "She sent me some information with concerns to Alan's research, for safe-keeping. But I'm not entirely sure she comprehended what it meant, or if your office knows what InGen is skating around here."

He furrowed his brow. "I'm fully aware of InGen's intentions with my animals –"

Sattler pinned him with a sharp look. "Look, kid. There's a lot of information in here that Congress and the government of Costa Rica would pounce on. Information that's dangerous, and could get a lot of people killed." She stepped towards him now. "Trust me, I'd know."

He raised his brows at her. "Really."

She nodded slowly. "Yeah. I'd know, because I was at _Jurassic Park_ with Alan Grant, Grady." Her statement struck him in the gut, and she lifted a brow again to gesture the file at him. "I suggest you take a look at this information." She paused again. "And if you're interested, I have people who can help."

He accepted the file, conceding the argument. "Now isn't a good time," he inserted quickly, "I'm just reacquainting one of the raptors back into the paddock. I need to be present to make sure things go smoothly." She took a step back from him, nodded, and slid her sunglasses back into place over her eyes. Glancing at the file, he looked back up to her. "You came all the way from the States just to give me this?"

"You should get yourself a secretary, Mr. Grady, and keep up with your emails and messages." Smiling wryly at him, she backpedaled away form him slowly and added, "All you need to know is that I'm here to gather samples of some of the extinct plant-life that Henry Wu has genetically modified, on a grant from _National Geographic._ " She shrugged a shoulder, "Alan and Marianne thought this was vital information that you should know. He didn't want it getting into the wrong hands."

His head snapped up. "You talked to Marianne about this?"

She smiled at him and chuckled. "She documented everything, Mr. Grady. It was her idea." Then, turning on her heel, she patted the bag resting against her hip and threw a hand into the air in a goodbye wave, "Look it over, Mr. Grady. If you won't take my word for it, take Marianne's."

Then, she got into the courtesy vehicle, and drove off.

* * *

 _Inspect the paddock,_ Claire reminded herself as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, _just ask him to look at the paddock, and then everything will fall into place from there. Easy.  
_

But, as Claire gently rubbed a the smudge of lipstick on her lower lip with a thumb, she had the idea that this was as much an opportunity as any to get back on Owen's radar. And, that was no easy task, because asking him for anything was a stretch. But asking him to come with her and help her would have him beside himself. It would be just to two of them, alone, and on business. To the casual observer, nothing more than work.

She had anything but business on her mind, however, when she walked out of her office dressed and ready on site observation at paddock eleven. She'd changed out of her professional attire after her pitch with Verizon Wireless to escort Simon Masrani to the new paddock to check on his dinosaur, which she was thankful to have out of the way. She'd heard nothing aside from the new hybrid, and was frankly sick to death of the topic. Having Simon inspect it had been both a relief and a privilege, however. Seeing the pride on his face made her job worth the effort, and the fact that Verizon Wireless on board? That made the deal even sweeter.

Now, dressed in short heels, tight jeans, a green tank-top and a light, short-sleeved cardigan sweater than fell behind her knees, she was ready to approach Grady. She'd been less than enthused about asking him to inspect the new paddock for security breaches, but Masrani had insisted that his expertise with the raptors qualified him for the task, despite their differences involving Marianne Randal.

If it set her boss' mind at ease, it set hers at ease as well. Everything had simmered down from the fiasco with Randal two weeks ago. They hadn't heard from her, which Claire was even more thankful for. The woman had been nothing but a rude inconvenience since she'd gotten here. She was thankful she no longer had to do damage control with the woman and her entourage of negative's – Grant, Malcolm, and whoever else had followed her to _Jurassic World._ The entire thing had blown over now, and all she had to worry about was getting the woman's things on the next ship out of port.

Life had been good. In the two weeks since the outburst at dinner, Claire had been regarnering her efforts to muster up enough courage to approach Owen Grady again. Her attraction to him hadn't been forgotten in the four weeks Randal had been here, instead it had only grown and festered within her gut like a swelling poison. Sure, she'd envied the brunette from a distance and her time with Grady, but she wouldn't admit that to a living soul. That secret would die in her grave.

Now, as she sauntered towards her Mercedez, she felt nothing but confident. Her two weeks of mustering up courage had paid off – she'd ran the scenarios through her mind and thought of everything she'd say to Owen. The hard part had been approaching him out of the blue, but now she had an actual reason to bring up the topic of their dropped relationship. Two weeks had been plenty of time to get her act together and figure out what she'd do. Now, as she slipped into the Mercedez dressed in jeans and a casual outfit, she checked herself in the rear-view mirror. She might as well have dirt under her nails as well, because she'd never looked this unprofessional or casual in her years at the park.

But, that was Grady's style. She could play on his level for awhile.

After all, if a woman like Marianne Randal had gotten his attention in jeans and boots, how much more could she do in heels and tight designer jeans?

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:** Hi, all. So I realize I haven't updated this since January, and that many of you have all but written this off. In all honesty, I needed to take a break from this piece and play around a little bit with Star Wars. I just hit a major writer's block with this and lost interest for a good number of months, and then when I started my Star Wars pieces, I got an email from a friend asking if I wanted to pick up where we left off with an Expendables piece we had started a year before. That has quickly spiraled into a series, and I've been busy having fun. _

_But, other than that, I did graduate college, and have been spending my summer looking for a full time job and waiting to launch my career. It's not as easy as it sounds, folks. I've been biding my time, waiting for the right thing to come along, and trying to figure out what to do with adult life. It's been challenging, to say the least, but I did finally sit down and rewatch Jurassic World, and found a bit of muse for this piece again. Hopefully you all like it, and I'm hoping I can stick with it and finish up this adventure._

 _Now, enjoy my refocused efforts._


	44. Chapter Thirty-Eight

Marianne closed the laptop she'd be working on and slid it back into her messenger bag, before slinging it over her shoulder and closing the truck's tailgate with a loud _bang._ Dust shook to life off of the Ford, and settled around her hiking boots, which were equally caked with the sandy remains of desert. She pushed her sunglasses up on her head and brushed off the shoulder of her mid-riff shirt.

She began the hike from the truck down to the trailer, where most of her colleagues had broken for lunch from the desert; mostly to wait out the heat of the afternoon. Once she arrived, she dropped her bag just inside the trailer and retrieved a sandwich and a bottled water from the cooler around the other field assistants. She seated herself on a warm rock, and tucked into lunch.

Midway through her third bite of food, her phone rang inside her back pocket. She stood, fished out the phone, and registered the number briefly: unknown. Wrinkling her brow, she answered the call, tucked the phone along her shoulder, and walked a distance from the trailer.

"Hello?" she added, "this is Marianne," The line was clear, though the caller hesitated. She answered again, shielding her eyes with her hand, "Hello?"

"Marianne," came the sweet-honeyed voice.

Stupefied, Marianne's eyes widened as she pulled the phone from her ear and checked the number again, as if it would change. It hadn't, and she pulled it back to her ear and wrinkled her brow in confusion. She felt as if the entirety of the desert's sands had clogged her throat suddenly, because her tongue was dry. Her heart began to hammer as grief threatened to pull it down to her feet.

"Owen?" she dared to breathe. Who else could it be, she thought; with a voice that reminded her of bourbon and a chuckle that was so distinct now in her imagination. Much to her surprise, however, he was chuckling over the phone, too.

"You sound surprised," he said.

"That's the understatement of the century," she looked over her shoulder, then back across the expanse of desert; face still set in a stony expression. "Why are you calling?"

He chuckled again, and then she heard the distant and distinct screech of a Velociraptor over the line. Her heart hitched in her chest and rammed suddenly against her ribcage, overcome with emotion. She bit her lower lip and looked down at her feet as he replied, "I wanted to hear your voice, Annie."

He used her nickname, which sent her mind spinning. She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, shaking her head to try and shake it off. It didn't work.

She dared a response. "Well, now you have."

His chortle was light, but throaty. Again, she heard the screech over the line and he added, "Hear that? It's Delta. She's back with the girls."

Her head perked up, and relief washed through her body like a crashing wave. Delta was alright, and had fully recovered from her operation. She closed her eyes and sighed in relief, nodding her consent to his statement as if he were standing right there in front of her. She wished for the sound again, but it didn't come. Instead, she heard his footfalls. He was walking.

"That's good news," she replied softly, "and the research?"

"In good hands. Peter sent it to the labs and associated firms for observation and documentation. It's due to hit the mainland sometime next month, to be submitted for paleontological study. Looks like Dr. Grant was right," he paused before adding, "how are you, Marianne?"

She looked over her shoulder, back to the trailer, to find her colleagues carrying on with lunch as if they didn't have a care in the world. She crossed her arm over her abdomen and shrugged, scuffing her hiking boot across the sands, only to have it tuft up over the heel of her boot. Sweat trickled down from her temple, and a piece of curl fell from her bun expectedly to brush her cheek. She swallowed thickly.

"I'm alright," she replied quietly, "working. We've excavated a new skeleton that's due in New York next week." That wasn't really his question, she knew, but she'd play the fool just to keep the steam rolling and away from the underlying topic. She crouched to run her hand through the sand, it falling between her fingers. Then, without thinking, she added, "How're you?"

"Okay," he replied in his usual perky chirp, "Things are getting back to normal with Delta at the paddock. Claire wants me to inspect the new enclosure tomorrow afternoon." He referenced the enclosure for the newest asset, the park's first "genetic hybrid" that had been so hush for months now. Marianne remembered having heard the gossip circulating the new dinosaur for some time.

She pressed her lips into a thin-line. "Oh. I see." The thought of Claire Dearing anywhere near Owen made her stomach flop over into a sour lump of brewing poison. She shouldn't hate the woman, she realized, but she also couldn't like her, either. "But other than that, you're okay? How's Sophie?"

"She misses you." He said, pointedly. He stopped walking, and over the line she heard a door slam. Then, he sighed. Owen hesitated a moment before adding, " _I_ miss you, Marianne."

She stood and shrugged again. She knew what he wanted her to say, and she also knew that her insides were beginning to crumble. It wouldn't be long before she couldn't suppress tears anymore. "I miss you too," she said quietly, "And tell Sophie that I miss her, too."

There was an awkward pause between them before he suddenly blurted, "Ellie Sattler came to see me yesterday."

Her head snapped to attention, and her brow dropped into a furrow. Her chest exploded into an inferno of questions. "What?" She shook her head, "That's impossible. Ellie doesn't even know you."

"I know," he intoned quickly, "but she's here, at the park, on an expedition for _National Geographic_ or something. She brought all this information from InGen that I've been looking over. Said you put it all together and passed it along to her." He hesitated, "Why didn't you tell me how serious this was?"

She rolled her eyes and covered her face with a hand, "I tried to, remember? I had Barry fax all that stuff over for safekeeping, before things could escalate." She shook her head, "It doesn't matter, now. What did Ellie say?"

"That she has people who could help us,"

She rolled her eyes again and puffed out a sharp, pointed breath. "Ellie has all sorts of contacts." She bit her lower lip before shaking her head, "What else did she say? Anything?"

"Only that I should deal with this and give it some thought," he sighed heavily, "but I don't know, Marianne. If this gets over to the military, who knows what could happen? It's all around dangerous."

"Does anyone there have any idea what this guy Hoskins is planning to do?" She challenged with a sigh. Really, this was the last thing she wanted to talk about. But, as she remembered the girls, so couldn't edge the thought from her mind.

"No," he replied, "well, I'm not really sure. I haven't really asked around." There was a sudden vehicular roar over the line, and she realized that he'd gotten into a vehicle of some kind and had started it. It sounded like he was driving, now. "My only worry is that if Wu and his people get that research from Peter and look it over, they're going to green-light this military thing with Hoskins. All of Alan's theories would make training raptors for military use a huge possibility."

Realization hit her between the eyes like a stone at his statement. It made perfect sense. If Wu and his laboratory rats got wind of the research that Peter had conducted during Delta's operation, Hoskin's would have his clearance to bring raptors to the mainland. Her heart began to beat faster and her stomach rose into her throat before she quickly spun on her heel.

If there was anyone who understood this research, it was Alan. And, if there'd be anyone to sway Masrani against this InGen plan, it would be him too. He'd been pursuing this theory for the majority of his career; had touched these animals and experienced them with his bare hands. There was simply no one else qualified who would be able to dissuade Masrani about this InGen project. Determined, Marianne stalked back towards the trailer.

"Owen," she inserted quickly, tromping up in the trailer to grab her messenger bag. "You've got to stop that research from getting to Wu. If it does, we'll never be able to stop InGen. We need to get our hands on it before it goes viral – those papers can't hit the mainland."

He hesitated, "Don't you have copies of them already?"

She winced. "I do, yes. But they're safe here with me and Alan." She pitched the laptop bag on her assigned bed, knelt, and pulled out a duffle bag of clothing to toss on the bed. She began sorting through it, selecting items and laying them out on the bed. "See if you can't get in touch with Ellie again. If you find her, ask her who she has in mind that will be able to help us. And see if you can't get your hands on that paperwork – ask Peter to recall the papers."

"He's not going to do that, Marianne –"

"He has to," she inserted sharply, standing. She looked out the small trailer's window to find Alan arriving in a dusty, green Jeep; his hat in hand as he checked in with the site's manager. He grabbed a duffle from the back of the Jeep and began moving towards the trailer. "See what you can do, Owen. I'll talk to you soon."

"Marianne, wait –"

She looked back to her packing, and without thinking, ended the call. Pitching the phone onto the bed, she hurried towards the trailer door and threw it open, finding Alan coming around the corner of the trailer, greeted by a few assorted colleagues now leaving from lunch to their respective transports. She hussled down the step, and stopped him mid-stride.

"Alan," she grabbed his arm.

He frowned at her from behind sunglasses. "Yeah?"

She gestured to his duffle, "You might not want to think about unpacking yet." Turning on her heel, she moved back into the trailer to retrieve her phone. She began going through her contacts when the door smacked closed behind her, only to have Alan drop his luggage by the door and stare at her, confused.

She found the contact, pressed call, and looked back at him as it began to ring. He mouthed, "What's going on?" and she held up a finger to still his comment as the line connected. She waited a moment for the recipient to answer the call.

"Yeah," was the introduction.

She smiled, "Nick. It's Marianne," she began going through her laptop bag, and found her passport, and remaining documentation from Jurassic World still tucked inside. She thumbed through the paperwork before turning to chuck her ID card at Alan, lanyard and all.

"Marianne?" He sounded stupefied.

"Yeah. I need a favor." she flicked a curl out of her face and looked at Alan across the trailer.

He sounded hopeful, "Yeah, sure. Anything. What's up?"

She snorted. "Well," she chimed, "I'm going to need your plane."


	45. Chapter Thirty-Nine

**Author's Note:** Greetings, acolyte's! I know it's been awhile since I've updated this - October was the last, yes? Anyway, I've been pretty invested in some _Star Wars_ pieces, but I decided to tap into this again in hopes to get some muse.

Needless to say - we're beginning to pick up steam! Next time, we should launch into the events of the movie (thirty-some chapters later), which I am more than excited for! Granted, I need to watch _Jurassic World_ again (my Owen is getting rusty and I need a refresher) but hopefully I can get into the swing of things here and pick up where I left off. As always, there will be some plot/story-line changes, so hang tight.

Enjoy, friends, and leave a review! I miss all of you!

* * *

Owen propped his feet up on his desk, uninterested in the fact that tidbits of dirt and dust dropped onto its surface from the treads on his boots. He shrugged off his vest, which was equally filthy, and wrestled out of his button down to pitch both of them in the corner of the office beside his desk. He reached behind him, slid open the window, and listened momentarily for any sounds of the raptors filtering through the night. Satisfied there were no unusual sounds, he started up his computer and began filtering through the daily reports.

Try as he might, he could not shake the conversation he'd had with Marianne earlier that week. She'd sounded tired and cold; everything unlike her usual self, and had taken every ounce of his being not to let his hurt show. She'd left the island without saying good-bye, and it had hurt him more than he was willing to let on. However, hearing her voice was enough to satiate his simmering anger.

He scrubbed his unshaven face with a hand, making observational notes on Delta's behavior having just been replaced back into her routine. So far, he hadn't noticed anything aside from her slowed pace among the others – within a few days she'd be well enough to get back to causing trouble and making him nervous. Peter had said dinosaurs bounced back from perforated stomach surgeries rather quickly, and that Owen had nothing to worry about.

His attention broke from the papers when the wind picked up outside his window and began jostling the trees and other foliage in a wild array. He felt a distinct rhythm vibrating beneath his feet that shook the walls, and his curiosity piqued. Owen rolled away from the desk, his feet tromping back on the floor loudly, and listened for a moment – there was a distinct, mechanical buzz for only a moment, and then a metallic whine.

Owen jumped up, and tossed his papers on the desk; they went skittering to the floor with other unsorted stacks, and he snatched up his discarded vest from the floor. Wrangling himself into it, he made the door in three long strides, only to be met with pulsing wind, as well as the amplified engine noise sitting directly outside the compound. Heat rushed through his veins, and he swore under his breath.

He rushed down the stairs just as the passengers inside the privately marked Cessna were dropping out of the plane. The engine began to wind down; the turbine slowed, and the second figure – a man – closed the door with a _thump._ Another figure came around the plane, presumably the pilot, to meet the other two.

Owen, beyond livid, heard the upset screeching of the raptors from somewhere inside the paddock and stalked towards the sudden trio of drop-ins. He clenched his fists, clamped his jaw, and threw his hands into the air.

"Hey!" He exclaimed, loudly, "what do you think you're doing? This is private property – you can't just touch down –"

Suddenly, the second figure whirled around and stepped into the beam of light produced by the overhead fixture situated on the paddock. Owen pulled up short and his expression went blank – he felt liked a seized up engine as every part of him froze in place. He became suddenly cold as his stomach dropped into his ankles, and his throat felt paralyzed all the way down into the depths of his gut. He couldn't have eked out another word if he tried.

The dark sapphire eyes of Marianne Randal stared back at him, and for a moment Owen wasn't sure what century he was in. It had only been two weeks since she'd left _Jurassic World_ , but it might as well have been two decades – he hardly remembered them outside of this moment; hardly remembered himself. For a second he couldn't breathe through his mouth, instead forcing air into his suddenly deflated lungs through his nose, until she smiled at him and he couldn't breathe at all. It was getting harder for his brain to communicate with the processes of his body.

She shouldered a backpack and rushed towards him. "Owen," was all she managed before he found her in four strides and wrapped her up in a strong embrace. She unshouldered the pack and it hit the ground at their feet, and she held tightly to him as he pressed her close.

He inhaled a breath of her hair and mumbled into her ear, "You're back," he said quietly, "you left without saying goodbye, Annie," Owen tried to mask the relief in his voice with a rumbling in his chest, but it didn't work as impressively as he imagined.

She nodded and sighed, her body relaxing slightly, "I know," she murmured, "and I'm sorry." She squeezed him tighter, standing on the tips of her toes within her hiking boots to lace an around his neck. With her other hand, she clung to the front of his vest. Owen didn't even notice he was half clothed, or the fact that they had an audience.

After a brief moment more, she shuffled herself back; Owen unwilling to let her go, and he produced a lopsided grin as he locked eyes with her. "Ya missed me, huh?" He asked her, quietly.

She bit her lower lip and gave him a shy smile, "More or less," she responded, her lips upturning into a full smile. After a serious second, she added, "It's good to see you again."

Movement behind her signaled Owen's attention, and he looked past her to see the other two passengers move into the light. Upon further inspection he found Alan, and Nick van Owen, approaching; each with a backpack over their shoulders, and Nick with a camera bag hanging off to the side over his shoulder. Owen's brow rose a few inches on his face and Marianne noticed, turning to face them.

"I see you didn't come alone," Owen murmured before Grant and Van Owen were within earshot. She nodded and dipped to shoulder her backpack again, then reached for his hand. He offered it to her, gave it a light squeeze, and fell into step beside her.

Alan came up to her right, "So, hotshot," he glanced at Owen from beneath the brim of his hat, "sounds like you've compiled yourself some research the military is ready to pounce on. Care to share?" When they made it up into the office, Grant added, "And maybe put on a shirt?"

Owen rubbed the back of his neck, nodded, and reached for the shirt he'd abandoned. Marianne dropped her backpack beside Barry's desk in the next room, and seated herself at his computer, immediately beginning to dig among his coworker's files. The trio of men joined her and Owen came around, pressing a hand onto the back of the computer chair to scan the screen as she filtered through sent faxes on Barry's email.

"Barry doesn't lock his computer," he announced. Marianne's nod confirmed this, until she finally clicked on the right email. She opened it, hit the print button, and the printer began spitting papers to life in the corner behind them. Owen went to retrieve them and slipped them into a file from Barry's cabinet, "I'll have to send him a memo about that."

Absentmindedly, Marianne added, "You haven't sent a memo in two years, Owen," before she snatched the paperwork from him and handed them to Alan. To him, she said, "Look at the genetic testing report on these, Alan. These animals are closer to birds than we realized before. Their predatory skills, mental capacity, and genetic profile are near matches." She hesitated, "If that's the case, their unpredictability in the wild is –"

Alan continued, "—nearly impossible to profile. It makes me wonder if Wu found a way to replace the missing DNA fragments with pieces of aviary genetics instead of frog DNA," he shook his head, "Hammond's technology allowed geneticists to replace the gene sequences with frog DNA, which lead to the sex change in the animals and unobserved reproduction,"

Marianne set to rummaging through her backpack, and retrieved a tablet. Unlocking it, she managed to connect it to Barry's computer and began syncing the files to her device. With a few clicks, she added, "Exactly. Wu's research with InGen all those years ago is more than outdated – it's faulty. He needed to come up with a way to isolate the sex change that was observed in the first park's speimen's to nix the problem. If that's the case, and he succeeded – we have an entirely new set of predator's on our hands. And if their genetic profiles are close to that of birds, we're unsure of how they could develop. Birds have a higher intelligence than most reptiles, and their predatory skills can be heightened, depending on what species of bird was used to fill in their genetic gaps." She looked to Alan, "Right?"

He rubbed his chin before scrubbing his face, "That's the short version, but right. Lord," he shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, "he doesn't even know what he's got and he wants to market it to the freakin' military."

Nick let out a low whistle, "Ouch." After he shook his head, he added, "That doesn't sound good. You mean he wants to market raptors to the military? Has he lost his mind?"

Marianne slapped the cover of the tablet closed, erased the file on Barry's computer, and switched the machine off. Taking the backpack at hand, she gestured for them to follow her out of the compound. She ignored Nick's question outright, instead leading them down the stairs. She looked over her shoulder at Owen, "Peter probably doesn't even know what he's got on his hands, Owen."

He nodded in agreement. "We need to get that research from him before it gets to Wu and is passed along to Hoskins – I know he was coming to island sometime this week to discuss proceedings with Masrani. Not that I think Simon is all that excited about the idea, but he does have a mind to at least listen to InGen." He paused and exhaled a puff, "He can't hold them off forever."

Alan grabbed Marianne's arm, pulling her to a stop. "We're missing a link here, boys and girls – what motivation does Wu have to just hand over his research to the military? It's his life work. He won't just pay out his cash cow," he shook his head, "he's not that gullible."

Marianne shook her head and shrugged her shoulders, "I dunno. That's a good question." She looked to Owen, "What if Peter's already passed along that data to Masrani's office?" A brow quirked over her left eye and Owen pointed them towards the maintenance shed, where an official Jeep was sitting; waiting to take them back towards the park.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Owen released a nervous breath, "let's start with Peter and I'll think of something." He draped his arm over Marianne's shoulder, gave it a slight squeeze, and dug the keys for the Jeep from his pocket.

. . .

"Peter, you don't understand – I need that data. I have…some revisions to make before it goes into Masrani's office. You have to let me have it back."

Owen's voice was more than pleading – it was desperate. Peter Bartlett sighed, and looked up from his microscope. He took off his glasses and tossed them on the counter beside the machine, and sat back on the stool he was seated on to scrub his face with a hand.

They'd left Alan and Nick at Owen's bungalow lest they raise any questions with his presence in the park. It was questionable enough that Marianne was back on the island, and after briefly going over a synapse with Peter Bartlett of her arrival and her relationship with Owen, they'd been able to spring the question on the confused scientist.

Now, he shook his head and crossed an arm over his chest, gesturing with his other hand. "I'm sorry, Owen – I can't give them to you. You know the rules – my notes are completely confidential until they've been evaluated by Henry. It's protocol." He looked over to Marianne, "As much as I'd like to help you –"

She leaned across the counter and produced the file from her backpack. Smacking them on the table before the doctor, she quirked a brow. "These don't have any of your notes on them, Peter – you can print off a new biopsy reading and no one will be the wiser."

He looked to the file and then back up at her, "The lab registry will be different, Marianne," he sighed and accepted the file from her, "I can't just –"

She interrupted him with a shake of her head. "Even scientists make mistakes, Peter," she added quietly, "please. This is so important." Everything in her tone suggested there was more to this than revisionary notes, and Peter glanced up from the file she'd handed him and stopped rifling through it. With a deep sigh, he hung his head and wrapped his hand around the back of his neck.

He heaved a sigh, sharply grabbed a pen from the front pocket of his shirt, and slapped it down on the file. Scooting his stool back, he slipped off and moved to his desk, which was littered with odd-ended paperwork and other laboratory ends. Rifling through the top drawer for only a moment produced a folder stamped with a bold, scarlet _CONFIDENTIAL_ label, which he extended to Owen.

"Here," he said with a sigh, "something tells me you aren't being forthright, Owen, but I trust your judgment." After a pause, he added, "Just don't get caught with those, hear?"

Owen nodded and beamed at the man, "You got it, doc. Thanks again."

Marianne smiled at him, dipped her head, and adjusted the strap of her backpack on her shoulder. "Thank you, Peter. You have no idea how important it is that we fix these." After a pause, she continued, "You have a good night, doctor."

He nodded, saluted them lightly, and moved back to his microscope to continue his research.

. . .

Marianne tapped through the documents on her tablet, seated outside Owen's bungalow on the table situated to look out over the lake that stretched out along Owen's corner of the island. There was a quarter moon; eerily white in the black sky, in competition with sparkling stars. It's reflection on the lake wrinkled unsteadily as the water lapped against the shoreline.

Too exhausted to sleep and even more exhausted to think, she locked the tablet and flipped the cover closed, slipping it onto the table top beside her. She propped her elbows on her knees and scrubbed her face with a hand, her mind whirling.

Now that they'd intercepted the research data from Peter before it could reach Wu's office, Marianne was unsure what the next step was. They could try and convince Masrani to pull his investments from the military operation with Hoskins, assuming he had them in play already, and risk not only Alan's reputation in the paleontological field, but also Owen's job. Or, they could try and pull Hoskins out from the idea of military development, which she deemed nearly impossible. The very thought of each mess brought a migraine to her head, and she pinched the bridge of her nose.

So distracted was she that she didn't hear Owen come up behind her until he was already at her side, extending a bottle of Miller to her. "Looks like you could use this," he said, tipping back a drink of his own bottle.

She nodded and took the beer, letting the neck dangle through her fingers. "Thanks," she mumbled, rubbing the back of her neck with a hand, "Alan and Nick?" She questioned.

He nodded and slipped a hand into his pocket, rocking back on his booted heels. "Alan's up looking at the data from Peter, and Nick called it a night after standing at the window watching you for ten straight minutes," he snorted, "I finally convinced him nothing was out here and he went to bed."

She smiled grimly. "Guess I owe you." She raised her bottle to him, and then took another drink. He gave her a lopsided half smile and sauntered over in front of her, sitting his bottle on the table top beside her tablet. Marianne watched him carefully as he took her bottle and did the same.

He brushed her braid over her shoulder with a careful hand, before tucking a stray curl behind her ear. Then he took her hand in his own, gave it a squeeze, and interlaced their fingers. He slowly traced the curve of her body with the back of his other hand and gave her a serious look. She felt her heart melt inside of her chest. Fire engulfed her stomach in a burning ball, and her lungs suddenly constricted; unable to pull air into her body, effectively.

Something rumbled through Owen's chest before he said, "It's been pretty quiet around here since you left," he continued, his voice dropping into a low, quietly, "why'd you take off without saying goodbye?"

This gave her pause as she considered her words, carefully. Could she tell him that saying goodbye would've been too difficult for her? That she didn't want to be hurt, again? Her broken engagement with Nick had left her hurt and cautious towards new relationships - and, her budding relationship with Owen was something she didn't want to lose. A lump formed in the back of her throat and paralyzed her vocal cords, which gave her a longer pause than she would've allowed, normally.

Marianne wasn't sure what he'd say, so she swallowed back the statement before whispering, "I guess I just wasn't ready," she murmured, looking away from him. "I'm sorry."

Owen let his hand fall into place along her jaw, and stroked her cheek with his thumb, holding her gaze for a moment too long. He guided her face back to look at him, and held her gaze. Then, he gave her a crooked grin and nodded his understanding, as if he understood her concern. "Yeah," he added, "I guess I wouldn't have been ready either." He pulled her forward to rest his forehead against hers and released a heavy sigh, "I missed you, Marianne. Probably more than I should've."

She nodded slowly. "Me too," was what she managed to eke out.

After a second, he snorted, "Even though you were a jerk to me on the phone," this made her smile," You ever hang up on me again and I'll make you wish you never did." The chuckle in his chest was low and crackling and his voice dropped into the bourbon tone that made skin prickle with goosebumps of approval. A blush rushed up her neck and exploded on her face, like it always did around him.

She beamed. "I'll remember next time."

His brows shot up. "There's gonna be a next time?"he challenged.

She shrugged a shoulder. "You never know with these things," she replied, which made him chortle. He rolled his eyes at her jibe, and she giggled.

"'You never know with these things'," he did his best impression of her, rolling his eyes, "Yeah, right," he finally added, before she swatted his chest with a hand.

She smiled up at him then, releasing his hand to wrap her arms around his neck. The front of his thighs touched the table she was sitting on, and he wrapped a thick arm around her middle. He tipped her head back with the other and gave her a lidded look that sent her stomach jumping into her throat with nervous anxiety. He looked at her like Nick never had, and it sent her body to shambles.

In the next breath, his lips brushed along hers tentatively, awaiting her consent. It took a fraction of a second for her to respond – she hitched a breath, felt her stomach jump up into her chest to hammer against her heart, and took his face in her hands. She nodded her consent, and in a microsecond, Owen pressed his lips against her own, and their breath mingled together.

Half aware of her surroundings but fully sure of his presence, he nudged her backwards along the table's top. Somehow she managed to kick off her boots, and he helped her out of her button down shirt. The night air was hot and muggy on her arms, and her tank top was streaked with sweat along her back, but Owen didn't seem to care. Instead, he shrugged off his vest and tossed it to the dirt beside the picnic table in effort to shed as much clothing as appropriately as possible. Marianne couldn't breathe.

She traced her tongue along his bottom lip and he responded, taking a sharp breath in through his nose. She knew he tried to stifle it, but a soft moan rumbled around his chest. Her stomach was getting warm, and her heart was throbbing – her ears were thrumming with her pulse, which seemed to rattle her skull. The feather like touch of his hands left trails of fire across her skin. She was almost dizzy.

When her mind began to dance with imagines that left her breathless, she broke away from him, breathing unsteadily. A hot blush crept up her neck and blossomed on her face, again - this time it didn't escape Owen's attention. He smirked at her and flashed a goofy half grin at her.

"You're blushing again," he teased.

She slapped his shoulder playfully, and brought her leg up between them to push him away with her socked foot. She lifted a brow and gave him a smirk, and when he lunged for her, she reacted by grabbing the nearest beer bottle of their pair and, just as he grabbed at the front of her shirt, simultaneously splashed it in his face. This all transpired in a fraction of a second, but that was all it took.

Sputtering, Owen took a few steps back to wipe his face with his hand, the front of his shirt now stained with alcohol. The bottle dropped out of Marianne's hand and she clapped a hand over her mouth in amazement.

"Why you –"he sputtered again, "- what was that for?" and Marianne couldn't stop laughing. She clamped both hands over her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laughter, but she couldn't. Her eyes pinched shut as she doubled over on the table, laughing at his gawking form standing across from her, hands dripping with the remains of alcohol. She could smell it from where she sat, and another bout of laughter erupted from her lungs.

As Marianne collected herself, he grinned at her, ran his hand along his unshaven stubble to lick the dripping beer from his lips. She snorted and held his gaze for a few seconds. There was quiet between them, save for the muffled jungle sounds and lapping water against the shoreline– and thenshe saw the mischievous looking gleam in his eye. She hitched a gasp, and bolted off the table to take off through the yard. Owen was right behind her.

Her socked feet were at a disadvantage on the gravel, and he caught up with her in three long strides, wrapping a thick arm around her middle. They were laughing loudly, and he snickered in her ear in victory. "Not so fast," he said, pulling her back against his chest quickly. Now effectively trapped against him, she collapsed forward over his arm, laughing and gasping for air.

"Now that I'm effectively drenched in what was an expensive bottle of _imported_ Miller," he said sternly, "I think it's time we took a swim, babe." He managed to turn them towards the body of water a few yards from their current scuffle, and Marianne's eyes widened at his meaning. He chuckled, countering her squirming, and forced her forward a few steps.

She gasped. "You wouldn't!" she insisted, now persisting in her attempt to be released with even more vigor. "Owen!" He wrangled her forward a few more steps, her fighting his advance, ever gaining towards the lake, "Don't even think about it!" She knew it was pointless - his naval training and hulking frame severely outranked her out-of-shape physique and feeble attempts in this miniature war, and realization was dawning on her, fast.

He snorted, "It's only fair," he put on a whining tone, wrestling her toward the lake again, "just cooperate and –"

She lashed a foot out in a sloppy kick, her sock filthy from the dirt. "Owen!" she squeaked, trying to contain her sudden onset of laughter, "please, don't –" her legs were no match for his powerful ones, and he pushed her forward; past the picnic table, towards the muddy shoreline. Her feet sank into the soggy muck, and she wiggled her toes. The mud was somehow cool, even through her socks, and soaked her feet.

She spun around to face him, pushed herself away with her hands to his chest, and planted her feet - she hoped her broad build would be enough to stay his advances. Something in his eye, however, told her it wasn't. Owen dipped, gently shoved a shoulder into her abdomen and swung her over his shoulder. She squeaked as he stabilized for a second, taking on her weight. Panicking, she swallowed a sharp breathe – Marianne knew she wasn't light like other girls, and she protested her concerns immediately by beating a fist against his thick shoulder.

"Put me down!" She insisted, "Owen, put me _down_. I'm too heavy to carry –"

He snorted, "Don't underestimate me," he started towards the lake again, this time a bit slower, "I don't go to gym and lift just to watch other guys shower," he pointed out. Marianne clenched her abdominal muscles in hopes that it would relieve at least some of her weight, and finally he stopped at the shoreline of the lake behind his bungalow.

He let her have her feet (less than gracefully), but didn't release her, instead worked off his boots and kicked them behind him. Marianne wrinkled her nose at the smell of beer emanating from his shirt. He smirked at her, gave her a lidded look, and in a single move shoved both of them into the black water stretched out before them.

For a brief second Marianne was falling and then she was submerged. The water was cool and soothed her skin, and was deeper than she imagined. Owen had released her, and she pawed for the surface, inadequate breath in her lungs. She popped up through the surface and inhaled a breath of air, swiping the rivulets of water pouring down her face from her hair. Her clothing hung to her body, and her socks buried into the mud of the lake beneath her as she stood, fully. She sputtered the lake water from her lips.

Owen's head bobbed up beside her, not standing at all, but grinning like a child. When he began to laugh, she spun around and slapped the water with a hand, effectively splashing him in the face. His laughter sputtered to a stop, and a satisfied grin overtook her face. She lunged for him, and dunked his head beneath the water. He popped up, standing this time, and sputtered.

"Are you happy now?" She was trying to contain her laughter but found it more difficult than she had hoped. Marianne turned away from him, moving towards the shoreline again, still swiping water from her eyes. It was difficult to walk in socks on the muddy bed of the lake, but she managed. "Ow!" she recoiled back, stumbled on another rock, and mumbled.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Owen lunge through the water towards her. She tried to move away from him, but the water slowed her attempt, and he grabbed the back of her shirt, pulling her down. She collapsed back into the water, and swallowed a mouthful of lake water. She staggered until she found her footing and stood again. Now drenched once more and dripping streams of water, she sputtered and staggered to correct her balance. Owen was laughing by this point, and reached out to snake an arm around her waist and pull her against his chest.

He answered her, "Yes – now I'm happy," he pulled her wet braid over her shoulder and fingered the saturated curls between his thumb and middle finger, "I was wrong about you, from the beginning. Promise me you won't ever leave me again. I don't want you to." He was dripping wet; shirt clinging to the sculpting of his chest and arms, and he shook water droplets from his face. "I'll find a way to make you stay," he added, "or I'll die trying."

Before she could answer, Owen kissed her again, long and slow, her anger extinguished. When he pulled back from her, she nodded her understanding. Closing the distance between them, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and in a swift move, he lifted her in his arms and she latched her legs around his middle. He didn't even seem fazed.

"I'll stay even if you don't want me to," she replied in a breath, "that's a promise."

. . .

Morning found Owen's bungalow earlier than Marianne would've liked. After she'd toweled off in Owen's bathroom and changed into one of his t-shirts and a dry pair of cargo pants, she'd collapsed into his bed for a few hours of sleep before dawn. When she woke, she found him splayed out beside her over the covers, snoring quietly.

She slapped a hand on his chest, mumbled, "Owen, get up – it's morning," and rolled out of bed to pad into the living area of the bungalow. Owen followed moments later, bypassing to the bathroom; leaving her to greet the kitchen on her own.

Alan was sitting at the island, passed out over Peter's data, and only stirred when she rubbed his shoulder and whispered a good morning greeting. His head lifted, and he stretched, registering the watch on his arm. Rolling his eyes at realizing the piece was still set on Montana time, he scrubbed his face with a hand while Marianne began rummaging around for breakfast.

"Anything interesting?" Marianne jibed, beginning to scan the label on a box of pancake mix from Owen's cupboard. Satisfied it would complete the job, she set it on the counter beside the sink and began searching for mixing bowls and other utensils needed for breakfast preparation.

Alan shot her a look with a cocked brow as she squatted to rummage through a drawer towards the bottom of the counter, "Yeah, take your pick. The biopsy this doctor did confirmed the hypothesis I made twenty odd years ago – these animals have hollow bones. Their genetic profile is closer to birds than reptiles, like you said – Wu must've messed around with the DNA like we thought."

She nodded, opening the box with a finger, "So we were right. These animals are far more complex than we thought twenty years ago," she shook her head, and began measuring water into a mixing bowl for the pancake mix, "Wu sure knows how to mix up a mess, doesn't he?" When she'd finished, she read the label on the box again.

Alan nodded and rubbed his face with his hands, "Sure he does. That's what he gets paid for," He leaned forward and rested his arms on the counter-top just as Nick stumbled in the door from outside, where his hair was wet, as was the collar of his shirt.

He paused only a moment to stare at Marianne, who dropped her gaze away as Alan finished his thought, "I don't think what we have here is enough to detour this military project, kid. I think I'm going to track down and Ellie and run all this by her, see what she thinks. Maybe she has some friends who would be better suited to address this issue than we are." He paused, "Then I'm going to get off this island before hell breaks loose."

She pinned him with a look, "Calm down," she insisted, "nothing's happened yet."

He raised his brows, "Emphasis on the 'yet'". He looked over his shoulder at Nick, and thumbed over his shoulder, "I'm going to clean up in the lake. Sounds like a good idea. This muggy heat is oppressive as hell."

After Marianne rolled her eyes and started to mix together pancakes, they dropped the discussion as Alan left the bungalow to clean up at the lake's shore. After they had finished a quick breakfast, Marianne threw on a midriff shirt and shouldered her backpack to meet the three of them outside to pile into the Jeep. Marianne bypassed her Camaro, only pausing briefly to stare at it and shoot Owen a grin.

Before she could climb into the Jeep's passenger seat, Owen tossed the keys to the SUV across the console. Then, he thumbed towards the Camaro and gave her a teasing half smile, and Marianne twirled the keys on her finger.

He grinned. "I kept your gun and your bow case in the bungalow. It's in my closet with the Marlin." He paused, referencing his Guide Rifle, "Just in case."

She nodded, "Great," she responded brightly, "I just might need them if we run into Claire."

With a snort, Owen rolled his eyes, and Marianne leaned over the console to fire the Jeep to life. Rounding the front of the car, she climbed into the driver's seat, and draped one leg out the Jeep's open door. Owen leaned through the open window and draped his arms through. Marianne opened every window in the Jeep, allowing the morning breeze to shuffle through the car smoothly.

He gestured with his head towards the Camaro. "I have to run and inspect a paddock this morning for Claire," he started, "why don't you meet me at the hotel and pick up Soph? I'm sure she'll be happy to see you." He added, "You take this with Alan and Nick, and I'll take your ride."

Her brow wrinkled. "Why are you inspecting a paddock? You're not park security, or ACU," she questioned.

Marianne referred to the Animal Control Unit of the park. They were almost a black ops team of specialists that ensured the park's assets were in order and properly "controlled". In an event of an emergency, they were sent to neutralize the threat and ensure the animal was properly secured – all without damaging the goods, of course. Marianne had only met members of the team briefly, leaving the introduction grateful that she would never have to do their jobs or maintain their stony disposition.

Owen shrugged at her statement. "Apparently Masrani thinks my training in the Navy and my relationship with the raptors qualifies me to make the call on the new asset's paddock," he gestured with a hand, "y'know, that one that's been hush-hush all summer?" He raked his hand along his unshaven face, rubbing his jaw.

Realization dawned on her, and she situated in the front seat of the Jeep. Owen closed the door with a _thump_ , and she turned to face him in. Concern marred her expression. "You mean the new hybrid," she clarified, dropping her voice before looking over his shoulder to Alan and Nick, who were examining her car. "Owen," she warned, "be careful. You don't know anything about the animal, and –"

He put up a hand and smirked at her, shaking his head, "Calm down," he leaned through the open window, "it's not like I'm going to play with it, Annie. I'll have a look around, ask a few questions, and be out before you know it." He wriggled his brow at her, "Now, give me a kiss for luck and get out of here."

She refused and wrinkled her brow. "Don't take this so lightly. I still don't like it, Owen," she warned again. After a second's contemplation, she kissed the corner of his mouth quickly and pulled back, "Maybe I should come with you." The expression on his face was enough to let her know that he did _not_ think that was a great idea.

He sighed, giving her a flat look. "With Claire there? Not a good idea," he confirmed her hypothesis.

She shrugged. "I'll pick up Sophie and head over. You think she'll stay the entire inspection?"

Marianne pressed the brake and clutch in, resting a hand on the gearshift. Owen gave her a look that was as blank as an empty page. "I don't know," he ran his hand through his hair; "I'll text you and let you know." He waggled his brow again, "Now are you going to give me a kiss, or do I gotta steal it?" He gave her a knowing smile, and crooked his finger for her to oblige.

She nodded, smirked, and lowered through the window to kiss him softly on the lips. He let out a satisfied moan, parted from her, and stepped away from the Jeep. He saluted lightly; Alan and Nick coming over to climb into the vehicle. After they situated, Marianne shifted into first gear, and guided the Jeep away from the bungalow, leaving Owen with her Camaro.

When they arrived in the park, she managed to get the Jeep to the hotel and parked across the lot, lest she draw attention to herself. After checking in with the front desk and assuring them that Owen had sent Marianne to collect Sophie for the day, they found themselves at the right door on the penthouse floor. Marianne knocked twice before she swiped the key-card, and stepped into the suite. Sophie's head popped up from behind the couch, and it took a split second for her to recognize Marianne.

"Marianne!" She shrieked with delight, clamoring over the couch. She bolted with arms outstretched to her, and Marianne took a knee to welcome her in an embrace. The little girl tightly threw her arms around Marianne's neck and squeezed, her body wound with excitement. She smelled of soap, milk, and breakfast, and Marianne was suddenly grateful to see her young friend.

"Hi, Sophie," she said with a chuckle, "good to see ya."

Sophia pulled back from her, arms still wrapped around Marianne's neck. "You've been gone a long time," she pouted, "Uncle Owen said you moved back home." She grinned again, "But I knew that wasn't true. You're here now!" She bounced up and down, her eyes sparkling with youthful pride and delight. She was slightly sunburned and incredibly tan, and her hair was lighter than Marianne remembered.

Marianne wrinkled her nose and puffed out a dramatic breath, pushing aside one of the girl's raven curls. She gave her a flat smile and made a face, "Only for a little while," she indicated a small amount with her fingers, "but I'm back now, you're right." Sophie moved in to hug her tightly again, and Marianne shuffled her back and wrinkled her nose again, gesturing to the girl's mid-morning attire of miss-matching pajamas and slippers. "Why don't you go change into some pants and a shirt and some sneakers, and we'll hang out this afternoon, huh?"

She nodded, furiously. "Okay!" was the reply, and she took off to change her clothes in the bathroom. Marianne stood and found Alan and Nick both staring at her – Alan, with a look of surprise; Nick, with a grin of amusement and adoration. She slipped her hands into the pockets of her cargo pants and thumbed over her shoulder towards the rest of the hotel suite, which hardly looked lived in amidst the little girl's stay.

"I didn't know you were good with kids," Nick observed suddenly. Marianne remembered that he sons of his own, and probably had picked up on her interaction with Sophie than Marianne would've. She swallowed back a breath and bit back a snide remark; she swallowing that, too. Or, at least, tried to.

She gave him a look, but a remarked escaped anyway. "You didn't stick around long enough to find out, Nickolaus," she started and shouldered past him, "Why don't you two hunker down here for the morning until I get back," she checked her watch, "Owen's inspecting a paddock this morning - Sophie and I are going to meet him and we'll see if we can't track down Ellie and send her your way."

Alan made a face, crossing his arms. He braced his legs a shoulder's width apart and raised a brow beneath the brim of his hat. He took off his sunglasses and folded them, placing them in the front pocket of his shirt. "Do you think you should be out gallivanting around? Weren't you forced off this island?" His tone was warning, and he gave her a fatherly look she had forgotten.

She shrugged, "I'm Owen's girlfriend," it still felt weird to say, but she liked the way it sounded, "they may have fired me, but they can't keep me away from him. I'm like a guest," she winked at the pair, "I just happen to know my way around administration, too." As she concluded her statement, Sophie burst out from the bathroom, dressed in a pair of tan shorts, miniature-looking hiking boots, and a long-sleeved, checkered button down. She'd even pulled on a frayed and weathered-looking ballcap.

She handed a white ribbon up to Marianne. "Please tie this in my ponytail," she asked, and Marianne nodded. Once she'd finished, the young girl slipped a small cross-body bag over her shoulder and announced, "I'm ready!"

Marianne nodded once, looked back to the two men, and extended a hand for Sophie to take. "Me too," she replied, passing by Alan to press a quick kiss to his cheek. She nodded to Nick, who made room for Marianne and her charge to pass. Once at the door, she looked over her shoulder and slipped her sunglasses on. She opened the door, and with a smile and light wave to her mentor, she and Owen's niece made their way back to the Jeep.


	46. Chapter Forty

**Author's Note** : Have another update, because I was bored at work! Enjoy, and please leave a review upon your exit - so good to see you all again!

* * *

Claire's park-official Mercedez was parked outside Paddock 11 when Owen arrived in Marianne's Camaro. He found that the construction crew either had the day off or had taken an early lunch, because there was no movement around the usually-bustling enclosure. He parked the Camaro off to the side, twirled the keys on his finger, and took the steps up to the Paddock's observation room two at a time.

Claire was pacing back and forth, a phone pressed to her ear. She was wearing her signature white, with matching pumps, and her hair was in its usual pristine, symmetrical cut. Her makeup was extreme and looked professionally done – she looked like she'd stopped off the cover of a magazine much less a _Jurassic World_ manager.

He looked around the observation room that looked out into the enclosure. It was designed modernly; with three large, reinforced pane-glass windows allowing a picturesque view into the paddock. Positioned at either side of the windows were two control kiosks – in the corner, a technician quietly observed the cameras and the animal's movements while munching on donuts.

Owen approached the windows – immediately, he noticed cracking in the upper left corner, as if repeatedly hit over and over in an attempt to gain access inside. From what he could tell, the indent pushed inward – signs that something _inside_ the paddock was trying to break the glass, versus something inside the observation room trying to get out.

Owen's brow dropped into a wrinkled furrow, and he frowned severely – the hair on the back of his neck rose a few inches. Something dropped in his gut; an uncertainty he'd learned to take heed of. Working with intelligent animals like raptors tended to give him a keen sense of danger and great observation skills. His eyes scanned around the paddock, but he didn't see any movement. He got a chill, and shivered.

 _Something's off,_ he thought.

Claire ended her call and approached him, her heels clicking on the cement floor. She stood to his left, crossing her arms in front of her to smirk at him. "Didn't think you'd ever get here," she said, her voice stoic, "you're late."

He shrugged, his eyes still perusing the paddocks' interior for any sight of the new hybrid. "That surprises you?" He replied, off the cuff.

She guffawed, "Not in the least," and began tapping one of the kiosks, and he stepped closer to the glass, examining the large abnormality in the left corner. Calling over her shoulder to the tech, she snapped her fingers – "could we drop a steer, please?"

Owen half-registered her remark, instead his mind focusing on the task at hand and the warning bells going off in his brain. He'd heard stories of the new hybrid– like the fact it ate its sibling, grew at abnormally rates, and the like. Originally, Owen wasn't too thrilled with the idea of hybrids – Claire said that it would bring more publicity to the park and thus more profits, and "reinvigorate interests". Owen and Marianne had discussed the parks newest asset before she'd shipped off to the mainland – there had been concerns from both parties involved.

Owen rubbed his stubble chin and released a sigh, then massaged the bridge of nose. His work with raptors and other predators gave him an idea of what he should be looking for and what questions to ask – as a general rule, animals that were raised in isolation tended to be dysfunctional, like people. Having no interaction with other living organisms or other environments left them uncertain of not only their abilities, but self-awareness.

He puffed out a breath, his eyes skittering across the paddock. It was odd that the animal wasn't around – given the rumors, and the size of the paddock, he expected it to be huge. But, he saw nothing yet. More alarm bells rang off in the back of his head. He bit his lower lip and clamped his jaw. There was a mechanical whirr, then a shrill shriek, and Owen saw the animal's lunch lower into the paddock from a mechanical crane. His brow shot up, in surprise.

Owen turned to Claire, wrapped his arms around his chest, and brace his legs a shoulders width apart. He asked his first question. "What exactly is this new hybrid you've got, Claire?"

She tapped away on her phone, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. She eyed him with a look that was close to seductive, but Owen paid it no mind. She grinned. "The base genome is a T-Rex, but the rest is classified information," she responded. The redhead approached him, one foot in front of the other, and shot a look to the tech. "If you'd excuse us – we need to discuss sensitive information,"

With nothing more than that, the man stepped out the door, leaving Owen effectively boxed into Claire's little enclosure. A brow popped up over his left eye as she pressed a single finger into his chest, and bumped him into the window. Her brow cocked and her lips parted in a slow grin. Owen suddenly felt like a mouse caught in a cat's trap, and he didn't like that feeling, at all. His butt pocket buzzed with his cell phone, suddenly.

He swatted her finger off his chest and frowned at her, taking a step forward to brush by her coldly. "You just make a new dinosaur and you don't even know what it is?" He chastised her bitingly.

Surprised, she frowned at him and shot him a sneering look, "The lab delivers us finished assets and we show them to the public," she shot back at him, her tone icy. She crossed her arms, stalked back towards him and slid in front of him quickly. Then, Claire cocked a hip and shot him a twisted grin.

He raised his chin to her, then turned away from her to look back inside the enclosure, "How long has the animal been in here?" he asked, his tone more demanding than questioning. He curled his toes within his boots, eager to get out from under her microscope of observation. Owen was finding it tougher to understand why he'd ever considered dating her to begin with.

Claire huffed and he saw her roll her eyes from his peripheral vision. His phone buzzed, again. "All its life," she replied with a snark.

A rock of doubt and alarm ricocheted off his chest cavity and fell into his gut. He whirled on her so quickly that he stumbled into the glass window, off balance. "What? You mean it's never seen anything outside of the paddock?"

Alarmed, her brows shot up and she shrugged a dismissive shoulder. "We can't exactly walk it, Grady," she undermined him by addressing him with his last name. She seemed mesmerized as the steer's carcass dropped into the enclosure, and glanced at him from the corner of her eye – she gave him a teasing half smile.

Owen put his hands on his hips and watched the crane ascended back up, empty. It retracted from the paddock, and he shook his head slowly. "Claire," he rubbed his temples slowly, "you can't just –"

She rolled her eyes and huffed again, "Do we have a problem, Owen?" She came towards him suddenly, one foot in front of the other; balanced grace, and stepped into his personal space. She cocked her head to the side, lifted a knowing brow over her left eye, and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

He started with, "Animals that live in isolation are usually dysfunctional, Claire –"

She shook her head, pushed him back against the glass again, and pressed a finger to his lips. "That's not exactly what I meant," she insinuated, and closed the distance between them slowly, "do _we_ ," she gestured between them, "have a problem?"

Now a burning alarm ignited his brain as if it were pilot light on a stove. Owen flattened himself against the pane glass in an attempt to put air between them – she just moved closer, with lidded eyes and a smirk marring her lips. His heart began to stir abnormally. He swallowed a clammy lump in his throat, only to find it had almost entirely sealed off.

"Claire," he started, chuckling nervously, "I don't know what you're talking about," he shook his head, then gestured between them, "there is no 'us'." When his phone buzzed a third time, Owen took a charging step from the window and shouldered past her, suddenly in control of the situation. He whirled around to face her. "There was _never_ an 'us'."

She frowned savagely, her eyes flashing to a dark ice of disgust that he remembered on their first date. In the back of his mind he suddenly pictured dark sapphire eyes from the night before – Marianne's. His stomach convulsed. He felt like he'd be sick, and ran a nervous hand through his hair.

She eked out a gasp, and stomped away from him, throwing her hands into the air, "I can't believe you –" she gestured into the paddock, "what do you mean there was never an 'us'? We dated, didn't we?"

"One date, Claire!" He emphasized the one by flashing his index finger from his balled fist, "We went on one date!" He turned back to the paddock, sighed, and waved off the conversation. He began searching the enclosure again. "Where is this animal, Claire?" He redirected the conversation, "I don't see it."

She rolled her eyes, heaved an aggravated breath, and stalked towards the kiosk. "It's in there," she tapped furiously, and the kiosk suddenly flashed red and buzzed an annoyed chirp. Owen's attention diverted to the machine so fast he was sure his neck would snap right off and Claire' face blanched white before it fell into a frown. She shot a blank and expressionless look to him, before her eyes filled with desperation.

He moved towards the kiosk, and Claire did the same thing. It buzzed back at her three more times before she moved towards the tech's control panel, her body tight with adrenaline. "We were just here, I just saw her –" her tone was on the verge of a manic breakdown.

A sneaking suspicion that was tinged with fear surged through his body. Owen knew that something was wrong – red flags, warning bells, and checkmarks floated through his so fast it made his mind foggy with uncertainty. He diverted his attention back to the glass, adrenaline pumping, and scanned the huge gate on the north wall – his spirit deflated as if it had been a popped balloon. He swallowed back a sharp, needle-like breath that burned his throat. His eyes floated closed.

More alarming, mechanical beeps erupted from the control panel. In the glass' reflection, Owen could see them flashing red. Claire was mumbling expletives, garbled with, "This doesn't make any sense – these doors have been sealed off for months –" before he gestured to the gate and turned to cock a brow at her.

"These claw marks always been there, Claire?"

She whirled around so fast that she staggered into the control panel, squeaking. The look of horror on her face was enough to let Owen know that she was on the verge of panic, and she hurried over, heels clicking in abnormal strides, and gasped loudly. A shaky hand covered her mouth as her eyes scanned the markings on the wall beside the gate.

They were deep gashes and claw marks in the cement, reaching upward, in frantic patterns as if the animal had tried latching on to something to hoist herself out of the paddock. Owen went for his phone immediately as Claire began backpedaling, shaking her head.

"You don't think…," her voice trailed off in disbelief, and Owen snorted at the nerve of her comment.

He unlocked his phone, cleared the messages from Marianne, and began punching in her number. His heart was throbbing so hard that it took a moment for him to catch his breath and focus his attention away from the blood pulsing through his ears. He snorted, "You'd better find out," before pressing the phone to his ear.

Claire nodded, and bolted from the observation room, "She has an implant in her back – I can track it from the control room," she stated, flying out the door to hustle herself down the stairs. In a matter of moments, she was in her Mercedez and rocketing away from the paddock. Owen was too busy counting the rings before the call connected.

"Marianne," he said quickly, "I really hope you've got Sophie with you."

. . .

Sophie kicked her feet back and forth against the vinyl of the Jeep's front seat, gazing at the window as the foliage passed by quickly in a mixture of blurry, green hues. Marianne checked the rearview as if someone would be following her, but instead just found a fine trail of dust floating up from the packed gravel road.

She drew her attention back to the road ahead, and wrinkled her brow. Ahead, there was a gathering cloud of dust, and headlights shining brightly. They flicked on and off, as if someone was triggering the high-beams off and on again, and within seconds the flash of silver SUV roared past them, honking loudly. There wasn't enough room between her and oncoming car.

Marianne braked the Jeep and pounded the clutch simultaneously; skidding on the gravel, and swerved off the side of the road to allow the car to pass. Sophie screamed as the car skidded to a halt, half off the road, and Marianne's hands flung form the wheel to slam the gearshift into neutral. Her foot was still on the brake and clutch as she went to examine the gasping child. She unclicked her seatbelt and turned to face the little girl, who had a steely grip on her seat-belt. Marianne swallowed back dry breath.

"Sophie – are you okay?" She asked, frantic, "I'm sorry, I didn't know –"

Sophie's attention diverted to the cup holder, and she nodded, gesturing to her phone. "I'm okay," she responded to the initial question, "your phone is ringing."

The phone vibrated and Marianne snatched it up, answering the call and falling back into her seat to rest her head against the rest. She inhaled a deep breath and pressed the phone to her ear, letting her eyes close in hopes of settling her frazzled nerves. The call connected.

"Hello –"

" _Marianne_ ," it was Owen's voice, sounding rushed and unsure. There was a loud screeching on the other end, like a bird call, and she sat up. Reaching down, she shifted the Jeep into first and maneuvered back on the road, picking up speed towards the paddock, and he continued, _"I really hope you have Sophie with you."_

She frowned, her nose wrinkling in confusion. "Of course I have her with me. She's right here. We're almost at the paddock,"

He was breathing hard, and there was muttering that sounded distant. Marianne bit her lower lip. There was an exchange of words, and she heard Owen mumbled _"…wall is forty feet high,"_ before there was a low whistle. A nervous ball of fire slid down her throat slowly, and she looked over to Sophie, who sat blissfully unaware.

"Owen?" She asked quickly, drawing to draw his attention back. When her attempts failed, she continued to listen. There was the exchange of, "… _really climbed out?"_ and Owen's " _it depends,"_ before there was a break in speech and Marianne gasped.

She floored the accelerator – the transmission whined, and she threw the Jeep into the next gear, her back axle fishtailing on the gravel lightly. Sophie gave her a wrinkled expression that was dotted with confusion, and sweat began to form in every pore on Marianne's body. Panic laced her veins and stole away her breath like a thief, and she closed her eyes for only a brief second as the thought eked its way into her brain.

 _Alan was right._ It was quickly dismissed when there was a suddenly mechanical crackling on the line, and she pulled the phone away from her ear to check for interference or low service areas. When she found none, she replaced the phone, checked her speed, and pushed the Jeep harder. She swallowed a breath and called into the phone loudly, "Owen? Owen, are you - "

" _Yeah, Marianne, hold on – what's going on?"_

There was a brief pause before Owen cursed loudly, and became distant, screaming, _"Go, go – go!"_ She heard the rustling of what sounded like trees and snapping branches, as well as Owen's ragged breathing, before there was a ragged expletive and a shriek – the call disconnected after that.

Marianne stuffed the phone into her pocket, and floored the accelerator again. The transmission shrieked again, but all Marianne could register was the blood-curdling scream on the other end of the phone.

. . .

"Someone – tell me what is going on!?"

Claire's screams were haggard as she tried inhaling air into her flaming lungs. She was dripping bullets of sweat even though she'd cranked the A/C in her Mercedez – twice. Her hands were trembling furiously as she gripped the wheel of her car tighter in a vain hope that the action would topple the events now spiraling out of control.

Fear clenched down on her insides in a throttling strangle – it was getting harder to think logically and breathe with every second that ticked by. Her stomach felt like a brewing pit of acid, bubbling up to dissolve her organs into mush. She gripped her phone so hard she thought it would snap in half. A part of her wished it would.

She slammed her foot against the accelerator, the car careening on the gravel slightly as she guided it back towards the control room. Yes – the control room. If she could only get to the control room, she could shock the animal until ACU could arrive and figure out what exactly was going on.

Amidst the screaming on the other end of the line and her nervous gasping, Claire had the sinking suspicion that something had gone very, very wrong, and that Marianne Randal had been very, very right.

. . .

For a split second, Owen had the thought that he was dead and this was his eternal hell. But, as his heart rammed against his ribs to the point of bruising and his adrenaline instinctively kicked into overdrive to propel him forward, a seemingly non-functional part of him realized that he was still alive, but was going to be dead in a mere matter of seconds.

Death didn't come, though – all that came was the sinking feeling of fear, and the realization that no matter how hard he'd tried, he couldn't change the inevitable. He pumped his arms as his feet ate the gravel beneath him – it was difficult to stay balanced with the thundering earth beneath his feet and the decaying breath racing down his neck.

The animal shrieked a roar behind him that sent ghostly shivers down his back. Owen would have been frozen in terror had his survival instincts not kicked in. At times like these – times of sheer terror – his Naval conditioning was what kept him alive. Owen lurched forward again when he felt the wave of air behind him – the creature had swiped at him with its massive talon, and he'd barely evaded it.

He focused his attention on the door – it was closing, thanks to the technician who had manned the controls. The way Owen could see it, it could go one of two ways – he and this beast were getting out, or he was staying in and was a dead man. Neither were ideal scenarios, but with a last-ditch burst of speed, Owen cleared the door.

Then was a loud _bang_ that rattled the earth, and then mixed sounds of crunching metal, roaring lungs, and crumbling concrete. The earth shook so terribly that Owen stumbled, almost falling into the maintenance truck to his right. He didn't dare glance over his shoulder – instead, he acted on pure instinct, slid to a stop, and scrambled beneath the truck.

His heart raced against the floor through his chest, and he felt lightheaded as he tried to quiet his breathing. Owen's eyes widened as he watched the beast burst through the paddock's gate as if it had been built if twine – the creature's gate was strong and powerful. It hunched as it walked, with long arms and short, thick legs – she looked something like a T-Rex, as Claire had said, but he wasn't sure what else was mixed in the genes.

All he knew was the jaws of the animal were bloody and filled with ragged flesh and cloth as she pounded forward, surveying the area. Owen feared his concerns were corrected – this animal had never seen the outside of her containment unit, so everything was new. She was unsure of who she was, what she was capable of, and where she sat on the food chain. Never good signs for an animal of this size.

He could smell her stench from even beneath the truck, as she sniffed the area, prowling. Owen's eyes dared not look away – instead, they followed her path around the _Jurassic World_ truck as she lowered her head. Owen was curious for a moment, until his eyes found the cowering technician cradled against the grille of the vehicle. He closed his eyes and released a breath.

There was a beastly snarl, and then in a fraction of a second, the animal wheeled back on powerful legs and plucked the truck up off the ground, rattling the earth. Owen recoiled back beneath his cover as the truck crashed to earth – glass shattered and flew in all directions, hardly audible against the animal's roar and the blood pounding through his head. The truck crumpled, and the hiding technician vanished from view. Owen's breathing became irregular as his nails dug into the gravel beneath him – he bit down on her lower lip loudly when there was a scream, then the distinct clamping of a jaw and the snap of bone and cartilage.

Images played through his mind only for a second until he scrambled beneath the truck onto his back, rolling to face the under-carriage of the vehicle. It took a fraction of a second for him to locate the fuel line, and he pulled the knife from his belt and but open the house. Instantly the fuel began to drain from the line and he slathered himself with it – it burned his eyes and marred his clothes, effectively covering the smell of body. He stilled when the animal batted the truck away and approached his hiding spot, seeming to remember where he'd gone.

He rested motionless; heart battering his ribs for release. The earth trembled beneath him with every step this creature took – her nose lowered to the ground; bloody jaws partially open and marred with ragged flesh and remains. He could smell death, and flesh, and decaying meat on her breath. He swallowed back a eke, and her nostrils flared as they edged closer to the truck –

She bolted upright suddenly when there was the sound of tires on gravel, and a cloud of dust appeared from the mouth of the road leading towards the paddock's acreage. There was a guttural growl that emanated from her and then a shriek as she registered the Jeep's presence. Owen forgotten, he scrambled onto his belly and edged towards the rear axle of the truck to register the new arrival.

His fears were confirmed – it was Marianne. His eyes widened as he watched the Jeep brake hard, fishtail on the dirt to come around in a 180, and stop. He could see through the back windshield Marianne – she unbuckled her belt, then reached across to unbuckle the passenger, and forced the other passenger to the floorboards into the backseat. He saw the figure, closed his eyes, and his spirit sank. Sophie.

Marianne scrambled down behind her, and the creature moved towards the Jeep. Even as a massive animal, she moved with the grace of an accomplished hunter. She stalked around the Jeep, checking the windows – she looked in the front first, as if remembering the driver and her passenger had been there, before looking towards the back.

. . .

Marianne's body was trembling furiously as she ducked low in the cramped backseat of the Jeep. She couldn't breathe, and she felt like she would throw up – rivulets of swear were running down her body and soaking through her clothes. She was fairly certain her heart and swelled into her lungs and mixed her organs together.

Sophie was in no better shape. She was trembling violently and squeaking in whimpering breaths – her face was ghostly white. She'd already vomited on the floor and streams of tears were pouring down the little girl's face as the animal circled the car. Marianne hadn't been sure what had happened at first – she'd braked the car hard when the transmission gave a squealing whine and locked her out. It had taken a fraction of a second for Marianne to understand what had happen – and even less for her worst fears to come true.

Her first thought was to call Alan and tell him how terribly wrong she had been, and how right he was. But, try as she might, she would've never remembered his phone number. Her brain was numb with pulsing adrenaline working to keep her alive – all she could think about was how to survive. It was hard enough to remember to breathe. Adding numbers in the mix? Forget it.

She slowed her breathing and carefully reached across the floor for Sophie's hand. The little girl clenched onto it tightly and Marianne gave it a reassuring squeeze. It did little, however, when the animal reared back her head and screamed into the air – a scream that shook the car, the earth, and seemed to rattle the very glass. Marianne swallowed back a mouthful of bile that had risen up from her stomach and took an uneasy breath through her nose.

She screamed when the animal nudged the Jeep with her nose, rattle the car. This accomplished something, because the animal reacted with a snort that fogged the passenger door's glass over Sophie's head, and there was a shriek of metal as the animal's arm came down on the roof. It dented, glass smashed and rained down on their heads, and the animal's heavy snorts rustled the air above their heads. Then, the smelled of death and rotting flesh permeated the car.

Sophie was screaming riotously as the car jostled back and forth as the animal's claws began tearing it apart. Something wet dripped onto Marianne's arm and she looked up, amidst pulling Sophie across the floor and into her body as she braced against the door. Overhead, she could see straight down the animal's throat, and realized she'd clamped her jaws over the top of the Jeep.

The girl against her was trembling and bawling, pressing farther into Marianne and squeezing the circulation off from her arms. Then, after no success came for the dinosaur, the vehicle wobbled momentarily before Marianne realized they were suspended in mid-air. She looked out the rear window – given the treeline, she guessed maybe they were ten or fifteen feet in the air.

The dinosaurs mouth clamped down again, crunching the metal as the vehicle's crumbling-points began to give. Marianne thought fast – they didn't have long before the Jeep gave out altogether. Her mind began to spin, and without thought, she pulled Sophie away and grabbed her wrist, pulling her towards the trunk of the car.

"Out the back, out the back!" She screamed, more glass raining down around them. The sound of the crumpling car was immense and piercing, as was the sounds emanating from the dinosaur's throat. Frustrated, the dinosaur roared, giving Marianne and Sophie pause – they clamped their hands over their ears, trembling at the deafening sound, until Marianne forced the girl over the backseat and they tumbled into the cramped trunk.

She tried the truck's release – locked. She cursed under her breath, and scanned around the vehicle as Sophie's whimpering sobs grew louder. The walls of the vehicle were starting to cave in, making their working room thinner and thinner, until soon there'd be nothing left. None of the back windows were large enough to crawl out of, and the passenger windows would leave them directly in the jaws of the attacking monster. No escape except through the trunk.

Spotting the tire iron, Marianne went to grab it when suddenly they were falling and she screamed, her back slamming against the roof of the car. Sophie tumbled on top of her as the Jeep hit the earth again, tumbling end over end, until finally it stopped. What was left of the back window was jagged pieces here and there, but nothing more – instead, a piece had embedded itself in her hand, and she moaned as Sophie scrambled off of her. Ripping the glass from her hand, she blinked away the trickle of blood streaming into her eye and pressed a finger to her lips to quiet the girl.

The dinosaur seemed to contemplate the events for a moment. Marianne could see it clearly from her position looking out the back window – it was unlike anything she'd seen before. She realized immediately that this was the hybrid the park had been mulling about for weeks and weeks, and she was horrified – somewhere between monster and nightmare, the animal was easily the size of a T-Rex, but with unmatched features. She was a pale white color, almost ashen, and her jaws were menacing. Talons curved from abnormally long and muscular arms, and her powerful legs were like tree trunks. Marianne swallowed back a gasp of horror as she moved closer, her strides rattling the world.

Sophie curled against her, whimpering, and Marianne pressed the girl's head against her chest. She closed her eyes and waited, inevitably, for what would come – another jostling ride, or the animal ripping the car apart and devouring them. Her heart was seizing in her chest, trying to kickstart, and adrenaline was making her body both hot and cold at once. A tear slipped down her cheek, though no sobs made it through the barricade in her throat.

Before the hybrid was upon them, there was a honking horn, the bite of tires on gravel, and a flash of white dot her vision. Briefly, Marianne wondered what salvation had come to her and Sophie, but when the truck braked sharply, she saw the driver – Owen. He laid on the horn, signaling the dinosaur's attention, which perked in his direction. The dinosaur turned to investigate the new threat, and before it could get close, Owen slammed the accelerator and rammed the vehicle into the dinosaur's leg.

It roared, stepped back, and went to attack the car just as Marianne saw Owen duck out of the car in a tuck and roll. He scrambled away in a military crawl as the dinosaur wrestled with the car, flipping it up and over and turning it end over end. She tore the metal apart, smashed the windows – ran her talon through the hood and engine block. Marianne began to tremble as shock began to set into her body, barely registering the fact that Owen was inching towards the vehicle.

He came to the back door, now ripped off, and poked his head through. He looked through the door to find the dinosaur preoccupied, and turned his attention to Marianne. Leaning over the seat, he reached out to touch Sophie's shoulder, reeking of diesel as he pulled air into his lugs heavily. Sophie opened her mouth to speak, but Owen clamped a hand over it, shaking his head, no.

He gently helped her over the seat, the crunching metal and jostling of the vehicle still loud outside their cover. The dinosaur battled still with the maintenance truck, roaring and screeching and grunting as Owen held his niece tightly with one arm around her shoulders, her clinging to him. Then, he turned to Marianne, and gestured past her shoulder. She turned to see the spare bottle of engine coolant topped over, and looked back to him. He wiggled his fingers for her to hand it to him.

She obliged, and he set it on the seat beside him, then offered her a hand. She almost let out a sob as her trembling fingers took hold of his hand and he helped her over the seat, slowly.

He gestured to the door on his right, and they slipped out the open window, carefully. They were, thankfully enough, facing the jungle's welcoming foliage, and they all three bolted for the tree line. They ran in a yard or two before hunkering down behind a big rock, the dinosaur barely visible now within the fronts of the array of plant life.

Uncapping the bottle without hesitation, Owen poured half of it down the front of Marianne's shirt and then the other over Sophie, before tossing the bottle aside. They sat quietly, collecting their individual thoughts and breathing, until the dinosaur seemed to tire of the car. She tossed it away as if it were a toy, and scanned the area – she was looking for them.

After a few moments of no success, the hybrid let out a frustrated growl and a roar before stomping away down the road, out of sight. The world was quiet then as her shaking footfalls fell away, and only once the sounds of the jungle erupted to life around them did Marianne collapse into Owen and release a sob.

He was there immediately, holding her in a tight embrace as she buried her face into his chest. He smelled terrible of fuel, but she didn't care. She sobbed into his shirt and tried to control her trembling, but it failed. He held her tightly, before an arm fell away to comfort Sophie, who was crying as well and shaking probably worse than Marianne was.

Marianne pulled away and moved towards the little girl, turning Sophie to face her. She began to run her hands over the girl's body, checking for any abnormalities or broken bones through blurry eyes. Owen was right beside her, checking her over – Sophie was just standing and crying, her body trembling, before she flung herself at Marianne and sobbed into her shoulder violently. Marianne wrapped her arms around the girl and picked her up, struggling to stand.

Owen grabbed her arm and stabilized her. Marianne noticed he was covered in filth from head to toe, but she didn't care. She didn't say anything as he welcomed her into his arms as she held his niece, and she buried her face in chest again, letting out a relieved sob. He rested his chin on top of her head and held her tightly, shushing her in an attempt to calm them both down.

His voice took on that bourbon-y tone that usually calmed her down – it did little, in light of today's events, "It's alright," he said quietly, swallowing a breath, "it's okay. I'm right here – I'm right here." Owen took Sophie from her carefully, and the girl latched herself around Owen as he pressed her head to his shoulder. With the other arm, he drew Marianne to his side pressed a kiss to her forehead. She began to settle down.

"She's…she's headed towards - to the park," she dared to speak, her voice a cracking crock of mumbled syllables and vowels, "I – I don't understand –"

Owen dismissed it with a shake of his head, and they began walking back towards the paddock, "We've gotta move," he insisted in a whisper, scanning the area with his eyes, "that thing might come back and establish this as her territory. We need to move _now_ and get back to the park to warn the others."

Marianne nodded her consent, and they hustled towards the destroyed paddock, past the three wrecked vehicles, and piled into her Camaro. Owen rested Sophie in the back seat, who now was silently numb and sitting passively. She stared straight ahead, into Marianne's seat, saying nothing. Marianne turned around in the passenger's seat to lean over and examine her as Owen fired the Camaro to life and took off towards the direction of the park. Given the trail of destroyed foliage and settling dust, they opted for the maintenance route instead of the public road.

"Sophie, honey," Marianne said, her voice beginning to settle from its previous quavering, "say something – does anything hurt? Feel broken? Are you cold?" She was already showing the basic symptoms of shock, but Marianne knew getting her to talk was a step in the right direction.

When the girl diverted her eyes up form staring blankly at the seat, she swallowed and swiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. "I threw up," she squeaked, looking down to her lap and gesturing to her stained shorts, "I'm sorry I –"

Marianne shook her head, reaching for Sophie's hand. "No, no – don't be sorry. It's okay you threw up," she shared a look with Owen and gave her attention back to Sophie, "Tell me, Sophie – do you know what kind of dinosaur that was?" Owen had mentioned his niece was a dinosaur fanatic.

"No," she squeaked.

Marianne shrugged. "That's okay," she said quietly, "I don't, either." She squeezed Sophie's hand – it was ice cold. Marianne worked off her stained shirt and draped it around the girl's shoulders; button the first few buttons in an attempt to house some of the girl's body heat. "We're going to get you back to the park, to see a doctor," she finished.

Sophie said nothing, instead passively looked out the window, resting her head against the backseat. Marianne sank back on her legs, flattening against the door. Her heart was still hammering, and Owen reached across the console to run his finger over the smudge of dirt over her right eye.

"How about you?" He asked her, "You okay? You have a nasty cut above your eye," he paused, "anything broken?"

She shook her head, no. "No," she held up a hand, "just need a couple stitches I think and I'll be ok." His brow dropped into a scowl as he floored the Camaro again, shifting gears, and shook his head once. She dropped her voice into a whisper, "Owen, are you ok?"

He nodded, and held up a hand as if to stave off her questions, "Yes," he said with biting clarity, "I'm fine." He paused, checked the rearview and folded his hand around the steering wheel – this time in a white-knuckled grip, "I'm going to kill Henry."

If something else didn't get to him first, Marianne was fairly sure that Owen Grady would.


End file.
